


Leather & Lace

by vivilove



Series: Historical AUs [14]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Gun Fight, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon is a her new ranch hand, Minor Violence, Multi, Mutual Pining, Sansa is a widow and owns a ranch, Sansa is the only living Stark, Sexual Content, She is also very lonely, Slow Burn, and running from his past, for me anyway, horse ranch, late 19th century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 134,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: EXPERIENCED RANCH HAND WANTEDGiving the advertisement another long look, like a lean wolf staring at a lonely hare, Jon Snow knew he'd need to find employment if he didn't want to wind up a frozen, starved corpse before spring.  Worn out by life on the trail and the haunted feeling that he was still fleeing his past, he thought steady employment somewhere settled might suit him for a change."What do you reckon, Ghost?  Might be worth a shot."******After her husband had died of consumption last year, many in town had doubted that a young woman of twenty could keep things afloat but Sansa Stark Tyrell is no ordinary young woman and she's determined to keep her ranch and to keep her newfound family together.But a ranch the size of the Golden Rose needed more than one old man, two green boys, three young women and a baby to keep it thriving. They needed at least one man in his prime.“A man in his prime for the ranch and a man in his prime in your bed,” Mya had teased when she’d spoke of hiring someone.She’d smothered a giggle and told Mya to hush up when she’d said it but something low in her belly tightened at the memory.





	1. Jon/Sansa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).

> I know historical fics aren't everyone's cup of tea but I absolutely adore them so here's another Western Jonsa tale. 
> 
> Gifted to the lovely Amymel. Thank you for your encouragement and the beautiful mood board, my dear!

Standing in front of the Smoking Log Saloon, Jon Snow removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow on the unusually warm October day. He read the advertisement tacked to the wall by the entrance a second time. He’d not noticed it yesterday when he’d arrived in town but the edges were curled and it had a coat of dust on it as if it’d been hanging for a bit.

**EXPERIENCED RANCH HAND WANTED**  
** Must Be Skilled With Horses**  
** $25 PER MONTH**  
** Interested Parties Apply Within**

“What do you reckon, Ghost? Might be worth a shot.”

The large white dog by his side which may have had more than a little wolf in him cocked his head to the side and snorted.

“Well, that ain’t much encouragement at all.” He dropped a hand to pat his friend’s head all the same.

Truth to tell, he had little experience with being a ranch hand but he’d known horses all his life. He might even flatter himself enough as to say he was skilled with them though he was currently without one of his own.

His last job had left him with a few dollars in his pocket and more than a few scars. This little silver town was booming which meant decent accommodations wouldn’t come cheap. It’s not like he was unused to sleeping under the stars but winter was coming and these were the Rockies. He’d need work if he didn’t want to wind up a frozen, starved corpse before spring.

Voices raised in anger from across the way had him nervously scratching at his whiskers and a lone gunshot nearly made him jump out of his skin. Ghost knocked his head into Jon’s side, reminding him he was here. Jon smiled and cursed himself for acting so skittish. Men out here were the way they were and whatever was happening over there was none of his concern today at least. He had Ghost and they watched out for each other. He’d left Thorne and his riders behind back in Kansas. No one would give two shits about him here in Silverhill, Colorado…he hoped.

Giving the advertisement another long look, like a lean wolf staring at a lonely hare, he decided it might be worth the attempt even if he wasn’t much given to optimism these days. He was worn out by life on the trail and the haunted feeling like he was still fleeing his past. Steady employment somewhere settled might suit him for a change he thought. He’d not known a settled life in so long, since back before he’d been old enough to appreciate it.

Jon glanced down at his dusty britches and poorly patched shirt but figured no one would expect a potential ranch hand to look like all that much. Still, his mama would’ve reminded him that impressions matter.

Using the reflection from the saloon’s wide window, he used his grubby handkerchief and a handy rain barrel to remove the most obvious streaks of dirt and grime from his face. He scowled at the hard looking man staring back at him. He didn’t think twenty-four would look and feel so damn old but what the hell did he know? He wished he had a comb to give his hair a lick but decided the hat would cover it at least.

“Well?” he asked Ghost.

The dog had laid down on the saloon’s front porch, resting his head on his front paws as Jon had attempted to improve his appearance. He raised his head, panted and thumped his tail approvingly.

“Thank you for that.” He gave the dog another pat before pushing his way through the swinging doors.

* * *

  
Sansa Stark Tyrell sat at her vanity and studied the reflection of the young woman staring back at her. She scowled to see what looked like a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows and then stopped scowling for fear that’d make it worse. She’d thought twenty was far too young for wrinkles even if she was a widow. She’d meant to fix her hair which she’d left loose later than normal today but she felt so tired deep in her bones and it wasn’t even noon yet. No wonder she spied what might be a wrinkle.

Micah’s cries had woke her well before dawn this morning. Beth had been helping Mya to shush him but the poor boy was cutting another tooth and, not long after the three of them had fallen back asleep, Bessie had been bellowing for her milking. Sansa had rose to see to it, figuring the other women and the child needed their rest. She’d stoked the fire and fetched the eggs after that before starting breakfast. Then, her day had begun in earnest and not let up until now.

She kept sitting there and meaning to fix her hair but not sure she had the energy for that even. What would her mama think of her going around with her hair loose and wild at her age and in her position?

Brienne had sent Pod to her with a message yesterday saying she might’ve found her a decent hand amongst the scallywags and layabouts who kept applying at last. She hoped so. She wasn’t sure how they’d make it through another winter without some help.

Golden Rose Ranch had been flourishing when she’d come out here three years ago to marry a stranger. Her circumstances had been nearly desperate when Margaery Tyrell, a friend from Miss Mordane’s Finishing School, had mentioned her older brother was in want of a wife out west. They’d exchanged a couple of letters and reached an agreement. She’d been nervous as a hare in a wolf’s den on the train ride out here but he’d been gentlemanly towards her from the moment they’d met and married life had been tolerable. They had not been in love but there’d been companionship, respect and a degree of affection between them.

A serious-minded man who was twelve years her senior, Willas had been renowned for breeding good horses. With his bad leg and poor eyesight for close work though, he’d tired easily and wanted help beyond the typical comforts a man sought in a young wife. He’d found her every bit as bright as his younger sister and had taught her bookkeeping and other things. Soon, a partnership of sorts had formed. He’d seen to their livestock and the breeding and Sansa had handled their business matters and correspondence.

But after he’d died of consumption last year, many in town and more than a few of the hands had doubted that a young woman could keep things afloat. Some had made offers to purchase the ranch and more than a few had made off with some of her stock in the dark of night knowing she had no hired guns to stop them. The sheriff had patted her hand and patronizingly told her what a shame that was but she’d be best to sell out and move back east.

There wasn't anything back east for her except an aunt she did not care for and what would happen to the others if she left? Old Rodrik Cassel and his Beth, Mya and her little boy, poor Wex who’d been born mute and an orphan and even Pod when things got violent at home with his uncle, they needed her ranch like she needed them. It was home to them all.

But a ranch the size of the Golden Rose needed much more than one old man, two green boys (one of them only there part-time), three young women and a baby to keep it thriving. They needed at least one man in his prime.

_“A man in his prime for the ranch and a man in his prime in your bed,”_ Mya had teased when she’d spoke of hiring someone.

She’d smothered a giggle and told Mya to hush up when she’d said it but something low in her belly tightened at the memory now and she felt a keening ache as a blush colored her cheeks in the mirror.

A gentleman he had been but Willas had expected what all husbands expect and Sansa had done her duty on the nights he’d knocked on her bedroom door. Granted, her duty had consisted of lying beneath him and staring at the cracks in the ceiling above as he’d puffed and rutted between her thighs until he’d shudder and groan. Once he was spent, he’d thank her politely, pull his britches back up, tug his suspenders into place and go to his own bed, saying he slept best alone. He’d never asked if she slept best alone or would’ve liked some company. Perhaps no one would ever care to know the answer. Perhaps she’d never get to learn the answer for herself for that matter.

But the way Mya talked about how things had been with her sweetheart, Micah’s father, and the things they’d done and the way it had felt…it made Sansa curious but skeptical that her friend was being completely honest. There had been times with Willas that it had been pleasant in a way but nothing like what Mya described.

She pinched herself in chastisement for wasting time thinking on such things, settled on plaiting her hair into a simple braid at last and went out to collect the laundry from the line. There was a stranger coming today, the potential new hand, and he wasn’t going to meet Mrs. Tyrell with her hair all unkempt and her unmentionables hanging out on the line.

She scooped up Micah on her way out the backdoor and they played a grand game of hide and reveal with the bedsheets which reduced the baby to belly laughs while his mother oiled her saddle nearby.

Sansa loved little Micah but he was Mya’s. She tried to ignore the other sort of ache she felt when she thought on that. No children with Willas and none likely at all for her anytime soon with no husband. She would never condemn her friend but she was not the sort to engage in dalliances with drifters, no matter how pleasant it might feel.

It was just past noon when Wex ran round the side of the porch, waving his arms and then pointing south towards where town lay a few miles away.

“We got company?” she asked. He nodded vigorously. “Think it’s our new hand?” Another nod. “Alright.”

He’d come earlier than expected. She’d take that as a good sign. She started to pick up Micah and go meet what she hoped would be her new employee but Wex wasn’t done. He pulled out one of the scraps of paper he always carried and his nub of a pencil.

The churlish man he’d been working for before Willas had offered to take him on had labeled Wex dumb but just because he was a mute didn’t mean he wasn’t as clever as any boy of fifteen. Sansa had asked her husband if she might teach him his letters if Wex was willing and he’d consented not long before he’d fallen ill. During the dark days of nursing her husband’s rapid decline, she’d found some measure of peace and satisfaction when she worked with Wex and was proud of what an able student he’d proven despite the hurtles he faced.

And now, he was quick to scribble out one word: DOG.

“He has a dog with him?” Another nod. “Well…alright. Dogs can come in handy on a ranch, too.”

“So long as it don’t spook the horses,” Mya said from beside her.

The dog in question was plain to see when Sansa rounded the house and Micah started babbling happily in her arms and acting like he wanted to be put down to make this critter’s acquaintance. But Sansa didn’t pay the dog all that much notice. She was busy sizing up the man next to him.

With his black hat and a pair of guns on his hips, he brought to mind some of the dime novels she’d read on her way out west, the handsome drifter or gunslinger. She should pinch herself again. He was just a man looking for work.

He had a saddle over one shoulder and his bedroll and a gunnysack in his other arm. Tanned, fairly clean, well-muscled and standing straight though not terribly tall, he looked like a man in his prime, alright.

He stopped in front of them and laid down his burdens to sweep the hat from his head. His curly dark hair was plastered to his head in places and sticking out in others and his worn out clothes brought a scarecrow to mind but his dark grey eyes were kind and his smile set her heart to fluttering when he bowed his head and said, “Mrs. Tyrell, I presume?”

Sansa shot a quick glance at Mya and felt her cheeks flood with heat when her friend winked at her in return. “Yes, that’s me,” she replied, suddenly feeling a mite faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things: There is a Silver Hill, Colorado but my Silverhill is meant to be fictitious and I'll admit I know next to nothing about horse breeding/ranching especially during the late 19th century but it's the backdrop I chose for the tale.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	2. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relieved to have a job, Jon gets to know a little about the residents of the Golden Rose Ranch during his first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was absolutely floored by the response to the first chapter of this. You guys are awesome. Thank you!!!
> 
> This chapter and the next will give Jon and Sansa's initial impressions of each other/interactions. It's a little bit of a slow build for me but hopefully not dull :)

At first, he’d thought the woman he’d spoken to at the Smoking Log might’ve not only been the tallest, toughest looking woman he’d ever laid eyes on but also the most taciturn individual he’d ever encountered. It sure hadn’t helped his flagging optimism when he’d walked up to the bar, laid down coin for a dram and asked who he might speak to regarding the posting for a ranch hand.

_“Who’s asking?”_ she’d half snarled.

_“Uh, me…Jon Snow.”_

Like a sharpshooter picking off bottles on a fence row for a prize, she’d fired off a series of questions before he’d even managed to take a single sip of his liquid courage.

He’d answered all her clipped questions though about where he’d worked and which ranches in particular. _I’ve worked all over but no horse ranches to be honest._

She’d wanted to know from where he’d come. _Missouri originally but lots of places since then._

She’d asked what he knew of horses, of cattle and farming even. _Plenty about the first two but next to nothing regarding the third._

He’d been prodded into telling something of his family situation. _There was just Mama and she’s passed._

She’d even taken note of Ghost waiting outside and asked about him. _Ghost goes where I go and, if that’s a problem, I apologize for taking up your time, ma’am._

All in all, he’d answered the whole host of inquiries with a sinking feeling, certain by the grim look on her face that he wasn’t going to be accepted.

But then, she’d cracked a smile and her blue eyes, which were prettier than he’d noted upon first meeting, sparkled as she told him she thought he might be a good fit for Mrs. Tyrell’s ranch and he could call her Brienne.

_“I might advise you to visit the local bath house first though.”_

She’d had a point there.

It made sense now, looking back on his meeting with Brienne. A widow trying to make a go of her dead husband’s ranch, she’d have to be careful of who she hired in a place like Silverhill and though Brienne was a woman as well, she was intimidating enough to scare off most dishonorable sorts if they had a lick of sense and clever enough to see who might be worth taking a chance on.

Of course, these thoughts occurred to him later during his first supper at the Golden Rose.

When he’d first met Mrs. Tyrell, he’d been too dumbstruck by her beauty and just grateful he’d managed to remember to remove his hat before speaking to her to think all that straight. Now, he was glad she had a friend like Brienne to help keep no-good, degenerate sons-of-bitches from troubling her. He hoped so anyway. He got a queer feeling in his chest at the thoughts of someone troubling Mrs. Tyrell.

She’d only spoken to him briefly before asking the woman next to her who was wearing britches to show him around and see what she made of him.

_“If Miss Stone and Mr. Cassel say you’ll do, I’ll fix you up with a blanket and pillow for your bunk, Mr. Snow. Pay comes at the end of the month though I’ll be happy to give you an advance if you’re in need.”_

_“I ain’t in need of much except a place to lay my head and a meal today, ma’am.”_

_“Very well. If you’re hungry now, there’s some biscuits and ham leftover from breakfast. Supper’s later but we all dine together here at the house.”_

_“Thank you, ma’am. A biscuit would be most welcome for now.”_ Ghost had whined by his side. _“And a piece of ham maybe.”_

_“Maybe two pieces,”_ she’d said with an indulgent smile for Ghost that had left him with another funny feeling in his chest.

And with that, she’d retreated indoors and soon after, the boy he’d first spied who’d likely announced his arrival had brought him out three biscuits and three slices of ham folded in a lacy napkin. It had indeed been very welcome to his empty belly.

All day, he’d thought of his new employer whenever he remembered the napkin in his pocket. He needed to return it to her but part of him didn’t much want to. It was delicate and fine like the lady it belonged to. He knew he didn’t have any right to such things but it didn’t keep him from liking both.

Sansa Tyrell. He’d learned her Christian name from Brienne. It was a pretty name and she was a beautiful woman. Lovely blue eyes that brought cornflowers to mind, creamy ivory skin with a fetching sprinkling of freckles across her nose and long auburn hair hanging over one shoulder in a braid.

She’d had a baby on her hip and, figuring it was hers initially and knowing she was widowed, he’d felt sorry for the little feller, remembering what it was like growing up without no daddy around. Turned out the boy wasn’t hers though and he was glad he’d not opened his mouth and said the wrong thing before Mya Stone had set him straight later. The boy was still growing up without a daddy around.

Mrs. Tyrell had no children. A widow, all of twenty, trying to run a ranch on her own in a world that expected most young ladies, for she was surely a lady, to keep their pursuits to cultivating pretty flowers, sewing and embroidery, baking pies, playing the piano and rearing children. He had to admire her courage, though from what he’d seen of her, he surmised she would be one of the last people to label herself as especially courageous.

He wondered what Mr. Tyrell had been like and then told himself it was none of his business. He was here to be a hired hand, not some long lost family come for a visit.

But sitting at Mrs. Tyrell’s table come supper time, Jon couldn’t help thinking maybe this was what being part of a large family was like. It had only been him and his mama growing up and she’d passed when he was younger than the two boys eating wolfishly on either side of him. Though he had no previous experience to judge it by, Jon suspected that on most ranches the hired hands didn’t eat their meals with the family and he was mighty conscious of his table manners sitting there with Mrs. Tyrell and her fancy cutlery in his hands and china dishes on the fine linen cloth. 

And, the longer he sat and observed them, the more he thought maybe this was indeed a family in a sense, a family they had made for themselves. 

Wex was a mute though good with the horses and smart as a whip. He also seemed a bit leery of him. He’d seen the boy eyeing his six-shooters before he’d stowed them with his dunnage. Guns had their uses, especially in town or on the trail, but he didn’t expect to need them very often while working horses on a ranch. Jon had wanted to assure him he’d never hurt a hair on his head but couldn’t decide how to phrase such a thing to a near stranger and for it to not come out sounding like some form of threat.

Podrick Payne, or Pod, was nearly as quiet as Wex for most of the meal but he’d sang a trail song on their way to supper from the bunk house, his voice sweeter than any actor’s on stage that Jon had ever heard. He didn’t live at the ranch full time but the angry bruise on his left cheek made Jon wonder if that was why he’d mentioned bedding down with them tonight. Jon had known his share of cuffs and blows as a boy too after his mama had passed. 

“Any news from town, Pod?” Mrs. Tyrell asked at one point.

Pod worked for Brienne at the Smoking Log some but had told Jon he helped here most of the time when his uncle allowed. The frightened way he spoke of his uncle made Jon’s lip curl up. He didn’t care none for men who’d beat a boy just because they could. 

“That new hotel going up near Heddle’s boarding house is getting closer to being finished. The owner’s coming to town next week to oversee the finishing touches. Brienne hears there’s gonna be a restaurant inside it that’ll be open every day. They say it’s gonna be the fanciest place Silverhill’s ever seen.” 

“Who’s the owner? Has Brienne heard of ‘em?” Mr. Cassell asked.

“Nah, some stranger from Virginia. Baratheon’s his last name though.”

Rodrik Cassel snorted derisively at fancy hotels with full time restaurants inside from where he sat at the head of the table. Whereas Mrs. Tyrell had retained her position at the table’s foot instead of claiming her rightful place with her husband being gone, it seemed that this was his normal place at mealtimes. The lady seemed to harbor a great deal of admiration for the old man though and Jon could already see it wasn’t just grey hair that made him admirable. 

Knowledgeable, kind and courteous, he’d been on more than his share of drives in his younger years, far more than Jon had ever seen. He’d done some silver mining too before settling to become a ranch hand and finding himself a wife who unfortunately did not survive the ordeal of bearing his lone child, the young lady who was seated across from Jon.

A blushing girl of seventeen, Beth kept smiling shyly at him whenever they’d pass a dish to each other. He cleared his throat and determined to keep his eyes on his plate. She was young and clearly innocent and he wasn’t about to make that kind of a mistake.

Mya Stone beside her fancied herself an expert when it came to horseflesh and so far Jon couldn’t argue with her assessment. After Mrs. Tyrell had made him welcome, Mya had told him where he’d stand in the hierarchy around here which was essentially below her but maybe on par with the boys. He wouldn’t argue with that either.

She’d not hid her doubts about his skill but he’d answered her questions and managed his way around the horses to her satisfaction in the hours they’d worked together today. Plus, Ghost had been on his best behavior, not that Jon would’ve expected any less from his friend. The dog had even shown off his herding instincts when one of the colts had tried making a break from the corral. Neither of them wanted to spend winter without a roof over their heads. By the end of the day, he thought they might almost have won a mark or two in their favor with her.

She was talking amiably with Mrs. Tyrell at present about the surly black stallion they’d acquired for a song which she hoped to break._ If I don’t break him first._ He felt that itch to prove himself as he so often did but he particularly longed to prove himself to Mrs. Tyrell. Why’d that matter so much?

Mya’s son Micah was a bastard just as he was but a sweet boy nearing one. He was already besotted with Ghost and it had made Jon grin to see the big dog patiently tolerate the child’s grasping, curious hands when they’d been washing up for supper. At the moment, he was sitting between Mrs. Tyrell and Mya in a raised chair with a belt wound around the back of the chair and his middle to keep him from falling…or escaping.

“Would you care for more chicken, Mr. Snow?” Mrs. Tyrell asked politely.

He would certainly care for more chicken. He’d not eaten all that regularly of late though there wasn’t anything wrong with his appetite. Not to mention, Mrs. Tyrell’s fried chicken was the best thing he could recall putting into his mouth in a month of Sundays. Her cornbread was a close second.

Before he could decide if accepting more would be considered good manners or not, he saw the nod she gave Beth, who quickly passed the platter across the table. He could hardly say no now, could he?

“Thank you, ma’am, I’d love some,” he said, reaching for another piece. There were only two left but he’d stick to one. He didn’t want her to think him a glutton. “It sure is good.”

There was just a hint of color to her cheeks and she blessed him with a shy smile of her own when they locked eyes. Unlike young Beth’s, he would not avert his gaze from _her_ smile though he didn’t mean to make that kind of a mistake either.

He’d like to tell her she could call him Jon. He’d like for her to say he could call her Sansa. Everyone else here appeared to be on a first name basis with everyone and it reminded him he was an outsider, something he was mighty tired of always being.

Deciding the wish was ridiculous considering he’d only arrived a few hours ago, he took a gulp of the buttermilk she’d poured him. He might’ve preferred coffee but it was buttermilk or water offered at the table tonight and he did love buttermilk with cornbread. Ghost would be so jealous if he knew how well he was eating. He’d have to make it up to him later.

“Boys, you want anymore?” she asked Wex and Pod. They shook their heads. “You think Ghost would want this last piece, Mr. Snow? It won’t keep so well and no need it to go to waste.”

There she was making his chest feel funny again by thinking of his dog. It gave him a boost of courage. “I’m sure he’d love it, ma’am.” He set his glass back down and cleared his throat. “And, I’d prefer it if you’d just call me Jon. I ain’t accustomed to being called Mr. Snow…if that ain’t too forward of me, ma’am.”

“Jon,” she repeated and he’d never liked his name half so well until he’d heard it on her tongue. He couldn’t help but note that her cheeks had grown another shade darker, too. “I will gladly call you Jon if you will call me Sansa. I was Sansa Stark before Tyrell and sometimes I still look around expecting my mother-in-law to appear out of nowhere from back east whenever anyone calls me Mrs. Tyrell.”

“Sansa then,” he said with a nod.

Mya had been sipping her own buttermilk and snorted at their exchange which promptly brought on a coughing spell. Sansa seemed a bit put out by it but Jon couldn’t say he much noticed. He was far too pleased by everything about his new place, his lovely new employer most of all.

_Sansa_. It even sounded pretty inside his head.


	3. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa does her mending by the fire and reflects on the past, widowhood and her new hand, Jon Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am grateful to all of you for keeping me so encouraged with this! Thank you!!
> 
> And in case anyone's curious, these are the young people's ages as some have been changed to suit the story:
> 
> Mya and Loras 25  
Jon 24  
Sansa 20  
Beth 17  
Pod 16  
Wex 15

She’d brushed her hair out and put on her nightgown but decided to work on her pile of mending by the hearth to let her mind run free as the needle went in and out before turning in.

Her bedroom had been hers alone since she’d first arrived but it felt far more lonely to her of late. The first few months after his passing, she’d grieved for the good man who’d died for a time but then been so busy that she’d not reflected on the personal impact of her change in circumstances all that much. But now, she was more keenly aware of the particular loneliness of widowhood though she was surrounded by others so much of her day.

There were no longer any firm and assured knocks on her bedroom door to herald a nocturnal visit and, though she couldn’t say she missed that element of her marriage especially, she did miss that feeling of being…well, almost loved when he’d be holding her close during the act.

Some nights, it was hard to find rest though she was always tired come sundown or well before it even. It seemed as though her mind was eager to plague her as she sought sleep with memories of happier times when she’d been a girl and had a family. She felt sadness over the memories and then annoyance that they robbed her of rest. Then, it’d be guilt for being annoyed and anger over her loss next, like a never ending cycle.

She would remind herself at last that she had a family again of sorts and that was more than many had. Of course then, she’d be busy worrying over them all until the owls stopped hooting and the cock prepared to crow.

Brienne’s note had said Jon Snow had only mentioned a mother who was gone. She’d had a mother and a father, brothers and a sister before they had all been taken from her. _Orphans like Wex in a way, the pair of us_.

She shook her head and thought herself presumptuous for even comparing herself to them. Wex had grown up in an orphanage, a very hard life, and though Jon was a man, he may have known similar hardships as a boy. She’d been a pampered princess from birth, living in a fine house with her loving family and kind servants seeing to her every whim until cholera had come calling unexpectedly and the hard times had followed.

Some nights, she’d take Micah to bed with her to give Mya a break when he was teething or fitful in general but that brought her no rest naturally. She did enjoy caressing his soft little cheek or wispy hair and pretending he was her own sweet little babe in the dark of night though. Sometimes, it brought to mind her little brothers and how she’d enjoyed holding them close during thunderstorms or after bad dreams. Tears often dampened her pillowcase those nights but Micah would never tell a soul about them.

And some nights, an ache of a different variety would visit her in her lonely bedroom and her hand might slip down between her legs under the covers. She didn’t like consciously acknowledging what she did then for Reverend Chayle would probably label it a sin but it felt good. She didn’t want to acknowledge that she never thought of her dead husband when she did it either but rather an idealized, romantic image from one of her dime novels, a handsome drifter with dark hair and dark eyes…like Jon Snow.

“What did you think of him?”

“OH!” she yelped at Mya’s unexpected entrance and interruption of her wanton thoughts. “What did I think of who?”

She grimaced as soon as she said it. Of course, there was only one new male acquaintance worth giving her opinion on. Her thoughts on the black stallion were moot. Mya knew best there. It was the new hand she’d meant, Jon. Jon Snow. She’d been saying his name under her breath on and off since supper.

What did she think of him?

She thought him intelligent and well-mannered though in a less cultured sense than Willas perhaps. She did not mind that.

She wondered what he liked doing in his spare time. Was he a reading man or did he like keeping his hands occupied? He seemed more like the latter.

She thought him handsome, rugged but not frightening, sweet in a way but strong and virile and…

_Lord, give me strength._

“His table manners were better than I expected.” _Table manners? Honestly, Sansa…_

“His table manners?!” Mya rolled her eyes and Sansa ducked her chin.

Perhaps she should steer them back towards what mattered most. “What did _you_ think of him? Does he know his business and will he be an asset to our ranch?”

“He knows enough and he’s certainly the sort of hand we need. His dog’s intelligent, quiet and might be useful as well.” Sansa nodded, certain she’d avoided any more probing questions until Mya plopped down in front of her and titled up her chin. “He’s also a handsome devil and might be well worth any future tears a gal might shed later to experience the joy of wrapping her legs around him, I’d wager.”

“Gracious, Mya!” she gasped, embarrassed but also titillated at the notion.

“I didn’t say nothing about it being you,” Mya winked.

“Mya!” Now, she was more angry than anything and maybe a little sickish feeling. She didn’t have any right to feel angry or sickish over what Mya might want to do with the new hand. Still…she hated the thought deep down in her core.

“Nah, not me,” her friend laughed and Sansa knew her flare of jealousy had been evident. “I treasure your friendship too much and there was only one woman at the table who he was looking all soft and moon-eyed over.”

Her heart took off at a gallop before she could stop it and there were her cheeks getting hot. Mya was grinning. She sniffed and shrugged, looking back down at her mending. “He most certainly didn’t look one bit moon-eyed.”

“You sure about that?”

Mya sauntered off to her bedroom, leaving her flushed and uncertain but a bit hopeful.

_Hopeful for what? Are you wanting to have some dalliance with your new ranch hand? Are you that lonely? You wanting to proposition the man who eats like nobody’s fed him in a month? Poor man just wants a job and you’re dreaming of having some love affair. What would Reverend Chayle think of your sinful thoughts? Or Mama?_

Tears born of confusion and shame sprang to her eyes so she pinched herself for that. She would never make Jon feel like his job was only his so long as he did what she pleased. But on the other hand, she was no longer a married woman and she had a right to think and to feel things, didn't she? She could think on having _something_ with another man, right?

_Why can’t I want something from a man even if it’s not what’s proper? And why couldn’t I be thinking of loving someone one of these days? Was I supposed to crawl into the coffin with Willas when he died? I’m twenty years old. Is my life already over and meant to be nothing but work and worry just because I lost my husband young?_

She wiped away her tears and glanced down at what she'd been working on. It was one of Willas’ old shirts. It only needed some buttons replaced and a small tear mended but a dead man had no need of shirts. Why’d she even chose to mend it? What had possessed her to walk into his empty bedroom tonight and pluck it from his bureau?

_Because there’s one man here who might could use a new shirt._

His was threadbare and patched. He might could use more than one shirt. New britches too maybe.

She was humming to herself as the clock struck nine and yawned. It wasn’t late really but late enough. She’d decided to seek her bed when there was a gentle rapping at the backdoor. It was soft and a little tentative, not firm and assured, and for some reason, that made her smile.

Thinking it must be Rodrik come to say goodnight to Beth or something, she opened it without a second thought.

“OH!” Tonight was her night for yelping in surprise, it would seem.

He was still dressed and holding his hat in one hand but his hair was tousled like maybe he’d been laying down already. That or perhaps he really didn’t own a comb. There was a spare comb around here he could have.

His eyes widened when he got a gander at her and then immediately sought his boots. Her face was on fire as he started stammering. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Tyrell…I mean, Sansa…for disturbing you this time of night, ma'am.” He scratched at his whiskers while still studying his boots, his face scrunched up like he couldn’t put words together. She couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t managed anything past her yelp. “I didn’t mean to wait so late to come up. I didn’t mean to keep it neither. I’d thought to return it at suppertime but I…it was in my pocket and I forgot and then I…”

He held out his other hand. One of her lace napkins, one of the ones that had belonged to her mother was in it. She didn’t even realize she’d used one to wrap up his biscuits and ham earlier. There were only four of them and they typically stayed in the drawer of her hutch. She used her more serviceable linen napkins most of the time.

She’d gone into Willas’ room and fetched a shirt to mend tonight. She’d wrapped up his meager meal in one of her mama’s fine lace napkins minutes after meeting him. Did it mean anything? If so, what?

“Anyway, it’s a mighty elegant napkin. I ain't ever had...I figured you’d want it back, ma'am.”

His voice was low and a touch husky. She felt a shiver race through her that had little to do with the crisp fall night.

“Thank you, Mister…Jon. The set that belongs to is very special to me and I would’ve been wondering what I’d done with it.”

She reached out to accept it and her fingers brushed his hand. It was warm and rough and an image flickered to life in her mind. His rough hand, nearly like leather, upon the lace. But not the lace napkin. No, it was her lacy drawers she rarely ever wore and then he'd be touching her soft skin with his hands. And she knew he’d be gentle, oh so gentle with his touches. She should feel shame over such thoughts but she didn’t. She felt a stirring in her blood and a longing to be held in his strong arms.

His eyes were no longer on his boots. They’d traveled back up her body, her body that was clad in no more than a nightgown at present. It made her feel weak in the knees but also bold in a way.

“Would you care to come in…” _to keep me company? To sit for a spell? To make my heart race some more just by the way you’re looking at me now?_ “…for a cup of coffee?”

He gulped and, for a moment, she thought he’d agree. But he shook his head with a sad, sweet smile. “No, ma’am, but thank you. I do love coffee but daybreak will come early and it’ll be a long day.”

She was partly disappointed by his refusal but also more than a little relieved. What had gotten into her to ask a man she barely knew in for coffee this late and her wearing her nightgown?

“Alright then. I’ll see you at breakfast. There’ll be hot coffee waiting.” Despite her conflicted feelings, she could manage a smile for him quite naturally.

He grinned and tipped his hat. That grin might be her undoing if she wasn't careful. “Thank you…Sansa.” She loved hearing her name from his lips. _Oh, goodness me._

She closed the door once she could no longer hear the echo of his boots on the back porch. She clutched the napkin to her chest, over her madly beating heart. A hint of the ham lingered but, more than anything, she thought it might smell like Jon; leather and musk…earthy…like a man in his prime.

Mya had come in to see who she’d been talking to. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“Not a word,” she said in warning before bursting into giggles.

Mya threw her head back and laughed as Sansa took her seat by the hearth again. She was going to finish that shirt for him tonight. She might never sleep now.

But later, when she laid her head on her pillow at last, the napkin was going to be tucked under it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will we get Jon's thoughts about that little nocturnal meeting with Sansa in her nightgown next chapter? You're damn right we will! But there will be a brief time jump of a couple of weeks to move things along as well. 
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up by Friday and thanks so much for reading :)


	4. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is learning more about Sansa over the course of his first couple of weeks at the Golden Rose and finding himself mighty tempted by his beautiful employer. He's also itching to prove himself to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the pining begin in earnest!

Two weeks had passed since he’d come to the Golden Rose and Jon still couldn’t believe he’d been so intrepid as to come up to the house to return her lace napkin that very first night. And he was still haunted by the image of Sansa from that night which may as well have been branded into his brain.

She’d taken her hair down and the waves of auburn had looked like ribbons of silk flowing around her shoulders. He didn’t have any right to touch it but he’d wanted to.

Then, when he’d looked down, his eyes had been drawn to her bare toes peeping out from the bottom of her nightgown. He might have thought himself a hard man in some ways but the sight of those bare toes had sparked something tender and protective inside him, like he wished he could fold her up in his arms and keep her from any harm always. That wasn’t his place and he shouldn’t have be thinking such thoughts about a woman he’d just met who was his new employer but he had.

And, when she’d reached out to take the napkin and her fingers had grazed his hand, so cool and soft, that tender, protective spark had ignited into something else, like how the air would grow thick and heavy with electricity and anticipation before a thunderstorm out on the plains.

Most of all, he seemed determined to torture himself over the way her nightgown had been made of a more diaphanous material than she might’ve realized. The firelight had been directly behind her and illuminated her figure perfectly. Almighty God in His goodness had surely created a work of art, a masterpiece, when he’d fashioned Sansa and Jon’s sinful soul had spent a shameful amount of time since that night pondering what she might’ve looked like with no nightgown at all.

It was more than her beauty, her touch or her womanly curves that had his mind running to her so often though. Sansa was a good woman, giving and thoughtful, courteous and kind but also possessing a keen mind and her own sort of strength and bravery that he admired.

She’d presented him with a shirt the first morning before breakfast saying she had a few spares if he had need. Two more shirts and two pairs of britches had followed which simplified washing days and left him looking much less like a wayfaring scarecrow but also touched him deeply. No one had gifted him with clothes since his mother had passed and being cared for by a woman in this manner was something that he would secretly admit he’d missed. But his thoughts about Sansa weren’t those of a lost boy wanting his mama, that was for certain. Rather, they were those of a man who would like to call this woman _his_ woman.

But that could never be and dreaming of such things would only leave him pining miserably. She was a lady and a landowner. He was an indigent ranch hand who would’ve been starving in two months or less if he’d not found work. _Not to mention, you’re wanted dead or alive, preferably dead, back in Kansas by a certain group of men._

Thoughts both lustful and tender aside, he was happy to say he was adapting to his new place and position quite well and learning more about the ranch and its residents.

The Tyrells had made a lot of money back east when Willas Tyrell had got a notion to travel west and start his stud ranch eleven years earlier. He’d bought it from a man down on his luck, renamed it and become a success. Rodrik liked to chew the fat after supper and he’d shared that story the night before last.

Jon had also learned through Rodrik that Sansa and her husband had been strangers when they’d married.

_“It was a connection through his sister that made the match for them after she’d fallen on some very hard times. You could tell she was as nervous as a filly in a barn on fire, clutching her lone bag and looking more than a little lost when she got off the train. She sure was pretty though and smiled very friendly at me and asked how-do-you-do when Mr. Tyrell made the introduction.”_

He wondered what kind of hard times had sent a girl of seventeen out west to marry an older man she’d never met. He feared the answer would be a sad one. But it didn’t diminish his admiration for her one whit. If anything, it increased it.

The ranch was in a beautiful little vale with good grass for grazing and the majestic, snow-capped peaks of the mountains in the distance. The house was larger than any house Jon had ever lived in and the furniture was fine and well made. He’d not laid eyes on them naturally but he knew the house had four bedrooms. Sansa, Beth, Mya and the baby lived in the house and the men and boy, or boys if Pod was staying, lived down in the bunkhouse.

_“Once he married Sansa, Mr. Tyrell told me Beth would be welcome to come and live at the ranch house with them. She’d been raised by her mother’s kin since a bunkhouse ain’t no place for a little girl. It’s meant a lot to me to have my girl living close again. Sansa’s taught her a good deal beyond sewing and keeping house though. She’d make any man a very fine wife someday and maybe there’ll be a decent feller come along eventually so I won’t worry in my grave over her,”_ Rodrik had said by the fire last night, his eyes flashing towards where Pod was snoring in his bunk.

Pod was a decent feller though only sixteen. He’d probably need to mature some to be a good husband to Rodrik’s daughter but one year’s difference in age wasn’t so much.

_“That was kind of them both inviting Beth to come live here. And Mya and her boy?”_

_“Mya’s been here about three years now like Beth. She came to the ranch looking for work and declared she was just as good with horses as any man Mr. Tyrell had in his employment. She was right. She lived at the bunkhouse initially saying the other hands being men didn’t bother her none though it troubled Mr. Tyrell’s sensibilities. Once she confessed to being in a family way though by one no-account hand who drifted through here winter before last before drifting off again the following spring, Sansa told her to take the spare bedroom. That’s where her and her boy stay now.”_

Jon had grimaced knowing Little Micah’s conception had likely been a similar story to his own with Mya being the young girl tempted by a handsome stranger in this instance. _“But wait…you said Mya took the spare bedroom.”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_“Ain’t there four rooms?”_

_“One is Mr. Tyrell’s which sits empty. It’s barely been touched since he died.”_

_“Oh.”_

He’d heard that some well-to-do folks did that, the husband and his wife having their own bedrooms but why on Earth would any man who had Sansa as his wife want to maintain separate bedrooms? He supposed he’d never understand rich folks.

And was that a sign that Sansa still grieved for her husband? He wondered how deep their affections had been for one another. They might’ve met as strangers but that didn’t mean love couldn’t have grown. It’d be so easy to fall in love with a woman like Sansa.

_But not me. I’m not gonna mess this up and make a fool of myself with a woman I’ve got no right pining for._

_Yeah, right,_ he chuckled to himself in the barn as the bell on the back porch of the main house clanged to signal breakfast was ready the next morning. The sound of the bell had a curious effect on him. It would set his mouth to watering and his heart to racing at the same time.

_Well, I ain’t gonna be the handsome stranger who’d leave her like poor Mya was left._

_No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t ever leave her if…_

He shook his head and laid down the ropes he was coiling to follow the others up to the house.

The midday meals on working days was normally a biscuit and dried meat but every morning for breakfast and every evening for supper and midday on Sundays after church services were done, the men would tromp up to the house to be fed like kings.

The meals at the house were his favorite parts of the day and not just because Sansa was such a fine cook if he was being honest. They were his favorites because those were the times he was sure to see her and perhaps speak with her each day.

He’d took to keeping count each day of any glimpses he’d catch of Sansa._ Like a lovesick fool._

The roomy porch wrapped around the house on three sides and he occasionally saw Sansa sitting in her preferred rocking chair out back holding little Micah or watching him toddle about when the weather was fine and she wasn’t busy…which wasn’t all that often.

Most days though, she was in the house or maybe out hanging out wash to dry or taking it back up, or down at the barn seeing to the cow or the chickens, always busy flitting from one chore to the next and he wondered if she ever felt tired. He suspected she must.

She didn’t spend all that much time down at the corral which was where Jon spent a good part of his day. He probably shouldn’t feel so irked by that, not that he was irked at her. It was just that silly desire to prove himself still eating at him. He longed to show her what he could do and show her she’d made a good choice in hiring him.

“She knows you know your stuff. I told her as much,” Mya told him when he’d worked up the nerve to mention how he was hoping Sansa was satisfied with him and Ghost. “Let’s see if that black bastard will cooperate today, huh?”

“Alright. I’ll go first.”

He pulled his gloves back on and adjusted his hat. They’d both been thrown by the black stallion more than once the past several days and Jon’s rear had let him know it all last night.

Approaching slow as to not spook him, he talked soft to the horse who was looking at him from the side and pawing at the ground. Ghost drew closer, watching. He’d swear his friend didn’t care for this business. _Well, he did see me falling on my ass more than once yesterday._

Just as he took hold of the bit, a flash of blue and red caught his eye. Sansa was coming down from the house with a blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders on the October afternoon and her red hair shining with no bonnet on at present.

_Shit_. The last thing he wanted was for Sansa to watch him getting thrown. He gulped and looked the ill-tempered beast in the eye. “I need you to do me a favor and not make a fool out of me, alright? I sure don’t want to fall on my ass in front of her.” The horse snorted. “I promise not to jerk at the bit and I’ll bring you a sugar cube after supper if you’ll behave.”

Whether the stallion had grown tired of behaving like a jackass or the promised sugar cube was the key, the horse not only allowed him to mount but let him keep his seat. He held on tight to the reins but didn’t yank like a green hand might’ve. He patted the stallion’s side, telling him what a smart horse he was as he kept him at a walk around the corral with Ghost sitting back and watching. He forced himself not to look at Sansa until he felt confident that he was not going to get thrown today.

“Holy hell, Jon Snow!” Mya whooped. “I think you might’ve broke him!”

He grinned and then grinned wider when he saw Sansa smiling at him. He whispered to the stallion that he’d be getting two sugar cubes if he could swing it.

Washing up at the bunkhouse before supper that evening, he asked Rodrik about the sugar cubes.

“Sugar cubes? Nah, ain’t got none down here. I just drink my coffee black mostly. Sansa will have them up at the house.”

He’d be sure to not wait until she was dressed for bed to ask then.

Sitting down on his bunk to wait for the bell, he noticed the soft grey blanket Sansa had brought to him that first day had been freshly washed and smelled lemony. He wondered what she did to make it smell like that.

Sniffing himself, he realized the quick wash of his face and hands hadn’t eliminated the smell of horse from him. He decided to change shirts. He also wet the comb Sansa had given him the other day with an apologetic look, saying she wasn’t sure if he might want one. She didn’t have to apologize. He didn’t have one and he appreciated everything she did for him. He just wished he could do something for her.

In a clean shirt and with his hair slicked back, he was running a hand over his beard and thinking it could use a trim when it occurred to him that he was acting more like a man fixing to go court his girl than a ranch hand fixing to be fed by his employer.

“I’m in a bad way, Ghost,” he murmured.

Ghost whined and placed his head on his knee.

Rodrik was sitting before the fire, smoking his pipe that he liked to indulge in before and after supper. Wex sat in the corner, playing dice and occasionally pointing or writing a word when he wanted to add something to the conversation.

Jon started whittling to pass the time when Pod said he’d be going to help out at the Smoking Log tonight. “Say hello to Brienne for me when you do.”

“I will. You can come along if you like.”

“Into town?” They were usually back at the bunkhouse by eight. It was early for some folks but they’d be getting up at the crack of dawn to start their chores. Plus, trouble would be easier to find in town. “Nah, I’ll be alright here.”

“You sure? Tansy and Bella are, um…well, they’d mentioned they might stop by Brienne’s for cards and a dram tonight. I’d introduce you if you like.”

“Who are Tansy and Bella?”

“Couple of doves from the Peach. They seem to be fond of this young fool for some reason,” Rodrik answered with a surly grunt.

"They're just friendly, is all," Pod said a bit sheepishly.

Whores then. He wouldn’t deny a twitch of interest from one part of him. It’d been some time since he’d lain with a woman and pining after his fair employer wasn’t helping matters any but a tumble with a prostitute wasn’t what he wanted. 

He was half-tempted to warn Pod off from the doves and say he was too young for such pursuits but he’d been sixteen as well the first time Ygritte had led him into the hayloft at her daddy’s place and figured he might not have much of a leg to stand on.

“Nah, that’s alright. You have fun but I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure? My treat if you’re short of coin.” He scowled and kept up his whittling while Pod started fumbling to explain. "I meant for a drink or to play cards. Not the, uh..."

“That’s kind of you to offer but I said no.”

Before Pod could say anything further, the supper bell clanged and Jon was the first one heading out the door. He might torture himself with thoughts of Sansa in her nightgown and she might not ever know it or care but he wasn’t heading into town tonight either.

At supper, much of the talk centered around the stallion and what a fine stud he’d make for breeding. Jon didn’t contribute too much to that, especially when he saw how pink Sansa and Beth’s cheeks grew over Mya’s far more free way of speaking on such matters. It wasn’t exactly gentile conversation for a lady’s table.

However, the talk of the horse did bring his promise to mind. “Speaking of the stud, I was wanting to ask a favor after supper, Sansa.”

All eyes flew to him and then to Sansa. Her cheeks grew pinker and he thought his own were growing a touch warm. Maybe he could’ve made that transition a bit smoother and his intent a bit plainer.

Regardless, he found himself alone with Sansa after supper at last. He explained his dilemma with the promised sugar cubes and she laughed, a merry sound that drew an answering one from him.

She plucked three cubes from their bowl and wrapped them in one of those lace napkins of hers. “I’ll be sure and return the napkin at breakfast and thank you. I know they’re pricier than loaf sugar or…”

“No, Jon. It’s alright. I couldn’t have you not holding up your end of the bargain. I like them in my tea or coffee but there’s plenty. I can share with a valuable new addition to our ranch.”

He wondered if she meant him or the horse. He’d better not ask. And the mention of coffee brought his first night here to mind again. He sure hadn’t wanted to say no when she’d invited him in for a cup but he knew it was for the best.

“You alright, Jon?”

“Uh…I’m dandy, thanks,” he gulped, trying to still the memories that were stirred from that night. “I best get these to Licorice.”

“Licorice?”

“Well, uh…yes. See, Mya said since I broke him that I could name him and I recalled Wex begging Rodrik for some licorice whips when he went to town the other day.”

“Did he fetch him any?”

“No, he forgot.” She made a precious little pout at that. Her lips were far too tempting. “Anyway…well, I had licorice on the mind. They’re black and he’s black and…I’m feeling plum foolish explaining all this,” he finished with a shrug.

But she was laughing heartily now, easing his embarrassment while simultaneously setting his pulse to pounding when she laid a hand on his arm to steady herself. He wondered if she’d laughed like this very much recently. He also wondered if it’d frighten her greatly if he begged her to keep her hand on his arm.

Just like the first night, her touch seemed to make the air around them crackle with tension…at least to him.

Her eyes were sparkling and her face was that pretty pink again from laughing but once the laughter had faded, they were staring at each other and her hand was still on his bare arm. Cool to the touch but like a brand he could feel all over his body. His cock twitched like it had when Pod had mentioned the doves earlier. But this time, it wasn’t some vague desire for any willing woman. It was desire for _this_ woman.

_You can’t have her though._

Was he a fool to turn down Pod earlier? No, he wouldn’t believe that.

And she was still holding onto him, still staring. Her chest was rising and falling as rapidly as his. Did she feel that tension? That hunger in the air?

She licked her lips and damn, if he didn’t want to kiss her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life right then.

She might be lonely. Her husband was gone but she was young and alive. A lush young body and a lonely young widow, sleeping in her lonely bed. Might she…

_Stop thinking this way_, he chided himself.

“I, uh…probably should, um…”

She moved her hand away and smoothed down the skirts of her pretty blue dress. “Yes, I reckon you ought to go make good on your word,” she said in a voice that was strangely rough sounding compared to her normally melodious voice. He liked it though. He liked that bit of roughness and wondered if that was how she’d sound when he made her come apart.

_Holy hell, you gotta stop thinking like that!_

He needed to go before he said something foolish…or did something even more foolish. “Goodnight, Sansa."

“Goodnight.”

Was he imagining the hint of disappointment in her voice now? Could she hear it in his?

He grabbed up the napkin with the sugar cubes and his hat off the table, tipping it to her before heading down to the barn. He’d see Licorice got his sugar and then take a walk. Not to town but just a walk to burn off the urges that were eating him alive tonight. Then, he could turn in to torture himself some more in his bunk with images of Sansa and wonder what her sugar might taste like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Your comments have been so kind and encouraging. It means a ton to me :)
> 
> This will continue to be a slow burn for a while (and it's a trial of my patience to write slow burn, I assure you!) but in the next chapter our pair will share some more personal experiences with each other and I'll be introducing some more plot. I hope to post it by Monday! 
> 
> Also, I'm not going the direction the show did with Pod when it comes to the soiled doves/prostitutes in case anyone is wondering. He does work at a saloon part-time though so he does rub shoulders with all sorts of people.


	5. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wakes from a lustful dream of Jon only to run into him at the barn soon after where they both wind up sharing something of their pasts. Later, most residents of the ranch head to town on pay day where Sansa finds a rather unwelcome letter waiting for her and has an even less welcome encounter with someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally happy with how this chapter came out after lots of revising so I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Also, it's October 31st in the story. Obviously, Halloween was not nearly as widely celebrated then and it was celebrated differently but it does get mentioned :)

_“I, uh…probably should, um…”_

_“Yes, I reckon you ought to kiss me, Jon.”_

Sansa whimpered into her pillow in frustration, falling short of that release she’d been seeking since she'd awoke breathless and needy from her dream.

“Sansa?! Bessie’s bellowing for her milking and Beth’s down with her cough this morning!” Mya hollered through her bedroom door.

Sansa jolted off her pillow, the mortification nearly suffocating at the thoughts of Mya knowing what she was in here doing. She couldn’t of course.

“I’ll see to the cow,” she answered huffily before sinking onto her pillow again, heart pounding from the unwelcome knock and her thighs clenched together from the earlier dream.

She brushed her hair and braided it, then dressed quickly and did an assessment of the larder. She’d need to fetch any eggs that the hens were offering. Jon liked a fried egg or two with his bacon and biscuits. _They all like eggs, you ninny. They’re men. They like eating_.

Throwing on her shawl, she headed down to the barn feeling more than a little ill-tempered but the frosty morning burned it off quick enough. Snow would be coming before long. The thought made her smile for some reason though she knew it was childish. Winter was a hard time for many in Silverhill. Men with no place might become desperate at such times and desperate men were dangerous.

But Sansa had always loved snow since she was a little girl and secretly cherished a belief that there was magic in the first snowfall. That blanket of white would cover the ground making ones boots crunch with every step and there’d be wonders to behold in things both simple and miraculous, like frosted pinecones or icicles hanging from the barn.

Her ill-temper was forgotten but she was soon feeling flustered in another way when she spied Jon walking her way.

_Did I summon you with my lustful dreams earlier or my girlish thoughts on snow?_

She knew that was silly. The hands had always been up and usually working well before breakfast and Jon was no exception.

He was dressed for his day of work but looking quite fetching all the same. She realized he was wearing the same clothes as from her dream, from the night he’d asked for sugar cubes over a week ago.

_Well, he’s only got the three shirts and two pairs of britches._

She’d tucked away the clothes he’d arrived in claiming she’d mend them when she could spare the time. She didn’t like lying but she wasn’t planning on returning those threadbare rags. Maybe he could use another shirt though.

Ghost was trotting at his side, seeming to relish the cold weather, and hurried over to greet her at the barn door.

Jon had said he'd found Ghost as a pup. _"Well, truth to tell, he found me."_ He hadn't explained what he meant by that exactly and she didn't want to pry too much as she'd found Jon to be a bit tight-lipped when it came to talking about himself and his past. She didn't think that a flaw really since she was the same at times. And she'd surely known her share of men who couldn't seem to shut up about themselves when she was a girl. They had been tiresome to say the least so Jon's more stoic nature only made him more appealing to her. Still, she hoped he might share the story at some point. 

They said their good-days with a scratch behind the ears from her and nuzzle against her leg from him. He was a good dog and quite helpful with the horses as well. She was kneeling to receive more of Ghost's affection when Jon walked up and tipped his hat to her. “Good morning, Sansa.”

Her heart which had already been beating rather fast, started thundering at the sound of his gravelly morning voice and his proximity. It was very good that he couldn’t possible know the sinful thoughts she’d had regarding him this morning.

“Good morning to you, Jon.”

“What brings you outside so early? It’s a mite chilly to only have that shawl on.”

She could point out he was only wearing his vest over his shirt but he was right. She’d been so warm in her bed earlier but the cold was getting to her now. She needed more than a shawl this morning and he needed a good coat. Did he have one?

“It’ll be warmer in the barn where I’m heading to milk Bessie. Beth’s cough is still troubling her.”

He followed her and Ghost inside and closed the barn doors behind him. It was indeed warmer in here. The smell of hay and manure filled her nostrils but it was a homey sort of smell for one who lived on a ranch. She was used to it now and found it comforting. She could smell leather and saddle oil, too.

_Warm and quiet on a frosty morning, tucked away from everyone but Ghost and the livestock. There’s fresh hay in the loft and blankets for the horses that we could…_

_Sweet Lord, help me to remember myself._

“I’m sorry to hear that about Beth. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

She startled out of her wanton daydream. _Not even had breakfast yet, you wicked thing._

“I’ll have her stay abed today and fix her up with some honey in her tea. I’ll send for Doc Luwin to come have a look if she’s no better tomorrow but I’m pretty confident it’s just a passing thing.”

“You’ll take good care of her, I know.”

“Yes, I’m well acquainted with nursing the sick at this point.”

She’d said it easily, not meaning anything really but Jon immediately grimaced and she realized how it sounded. It was the truth though. She’d sat by many sickbeds in her life.

“I’m very sorry for that, Sansa. Sorry about him passing.”

His sweet concerned tone caught her off-guard and tears pricked her eyes. They weren’t tears for her dead husband though. They were tears brought about thinking that Jon might care about her pain. “It’s alright. It’s…”

“My mama had consumption, too.”

His hand clasped hers, the leather of his gloves a barrier between their skin but she could feel his warmth all the same, as warm as the look in his grey eyes. Her heart thudded in her chest, torn between affection for this man and his kindness and sad memories.

“I’m sorry for your mama, Jon. How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Oh, gracious.” Her wanton daydreams were long gone now, replaced by sympathy and a desire to embrace him. That would hardly be proper but she could nearly see the heartbroken boy of thirteen he must’ve been while staring at the man in front of her. Her heart ached and she longed to embrace him even more. “What about your daddy?”

He scowled. “He wasn’t ever around.”

“Siblings?”

“Nuh uh.”

“That must’ve been very hard.” He nodded but kept his mouth closed. She suspected he was not accustomed to sharing his pain or having much of anyone to share it with. _You can share with me. I can share with you._ “I was sixteen when Mama and Daddy and my…” She couldn’t speak the others’ names. It had been such a horrible time. “Cholera,” she whispered at his look of inquiry.

He looked so saddened and his hand gripped hers tighter. She squeezed his hand in return, finding strength in his touch.

“You had brothers and sisters?”

“Three brothers, one sister.”

“And…all of them?”

“All of them but me.”

“I’m so sorry, Sansa.”

“I’d sit and wish He’d’ve just taken me with them…but here I am.” A tear slid down her cheek at the familiar pain over their deaths and the familiar anger and guilt over being the only one left.

They were facing each other and he took both her hands in his now. “My daddy was no good and was already dead before she died. But he had a brother who took me for a year or so. He wasn’t no good either and wasn’t interested in raising a boy once the meager bit of money I’d inherited from my mama was gone. When I turned fifteen, I’d had enough of him so I ran off and found work.”

“Oh, Jon…”

“I did alright, I guess. I did my best anyway. But a young lady like you? How did you…”

“I had an aunt that took me in. She was rather awful though and her husband was worse but in a different way.” She closed her eyes, resolved to put Aunt Lysa and Mr. Baelish from her mind. “Anyway, I was left with lots of debts and nowhere else to go. I spent nearly a year crying like a helpless little girl it seemed but I didn’t want to stay with them forever. Willas’ sister told me that he was looking for a wife and I…I did what I had to…I did my best anyway.”

“That took courage.”

“I didn’t feel all that courageous. Just a scared and helpless girl.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You’re one of the bravest people I ever met.”

She swallowed hard at the sincerity of his words. He was going to make her cry more if he talked like that. “No, I’m not.”

He raised one hand to stroke her cheek, tracing the path of her tear with his thumb, the leather of his glove so soft and supple. “Yeah, you are.”

She leaned into his touch, longing to fall into his arms. Instead, she just stared into his eyes and drew the strength to keep on standing from his touch and the way he looked at her.

There was no telling how long they might’ve stood there or what might have happened if Bessie hadn’t mooed pitifully the next moment, eager for her relief.

Their hands parted and he stepped back from her. She felt shaky and bereft at the loss of touch but told herself she shouldn’t. There was work to do and there wasn’t time to be held by Jon, crying about the past and seeking to be healed by his touch while hoping to do the same for him. Being held in his arms wasn’t something that they did anyway no matter how much she might dream about it.

She reached for her milking gloves, pail and stool. Jon went in search of whatever he’d come up to the barn for. They probably both needed a moment to let the emotion swelling within them settle again and everything would go back to how it was.

“It’s the 31st,” she said to fill the silence as the milk started filling the pail. “You’ll be getting your pay at last. Got any plans for it?”

“Not especially. Maybe save up for a rainy day, I reckon.”

“The hands have always knocked off early on pay day, in case Rodrik or Mya haven’t told you. They head into town to…well, I guess make some purchases.”_ I hope you won’t spend it all on whiskey. I really hope you won’t spend it on loose women either._ Neither seemed like Jon though. He wasn’t replying so she kept milking and chattering. “There'll be a bonfire in town this evening for All Hallows Eve. It can get pretty lively, I hear." _ Sometimes there's dancing, too. _ She didn't feel quite brave enough to mention that. "I’d say for you to get a good coat for winter if you don’t have one but there’s one here you’re welcome to if you like.”

“One of Mr. Tyrell’s?”

“Well, yes but it’s a good coat.”

She looked over her shoulder and he was standing behind her, holding a bridle and looking less than pleased. He gave her a half-hearted smile. “I can buy my own coat now, thanks to you, ma’am. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He was heading out the barn door with Ghost at his heels before she could think of why he’d sounded sort of angry and why she felt so wounded by his tone. She turned back to Bessie. “What’d I say wrong, old girl?”

* * *

  
“A man’s got his pride, Sansa,” Mya shrugged as they were riding in the back of the wagon with little Micah on the way to town later that afternoon.

Yes, the hands usually went into town on pay day but that didn’t mean Sansa couldn’t come along, did it? She wanted to pick up some Smith Bros cough drops for Beth anyway. _And maybe see the bonfire and if there's to be any dancing..._

Rodrik was driving and Wex was up front with him so they couldn’t hear their talk. Pod was already at the Smoking Log helping Brienne. Jon had said he’d ride into town on his own on Licorice. He’d been a bit withdrawn at breakfast and she’d spoken to Mya about it and shared her concerns over the coat.

“But it’s a perfectly good coat and it’s just hanging and…”

“And, it belonged to your husband. Jon’s probably figured out by now that the shirts and britches you give him were Mr. Tyrell’s, too. He’s got his pride. Sometimes, it’s all a person has left.” Sansa started to open her mouth and argue that pride seemed like a silly reason to go around half-dressed until Mya continued. “You’re paying him, feeding him, giving him a roof over his head and now you want to put him in your dead husband’s clothes. He probably feels like some beggar at your doorstep. Seems like you said you didn’t care for being at your aunt’s and constantly reminded of what a burden you were.”

Sansa scowled. She hadn’t liked that one bit. Marrying a stranger had been scary but she’d thought it might just be worth it to escape Aunt Lysa’s house. She’d been right. “But Jon’s no burden. He works so hard. He’s no beggar at all.”

“He does work hard and he’s earned that money for certain. So, let him go spend it on his own coat and let him keep his pride over the matter. How would you feel if he offered you some dress that had belonged to his wife?”

A flicker of jealousy licked up her spine at the thought. “He’s not married.”

“Well, no. Not so far as we know anyway.”

“He’s not. Jon said there was only his mama.”

“And men don’t ever take off on their women, do they?” Mya asked sarcastically.

Sansa looked down at her lap, feeling sorry for her friend and her little boy. “Jon wouldn’t do that,” she said quietly. She’d not even known him a full month. Rationally, she knew she couldn’t swear to that. She just believed it.

“Maybe not. Alright, he’s unmarried then but what if he offered you some other gal’s dress?”

“I…” Her blood felt hot as that jealous flicker was stirred again. Jon giving her a dress might be one thing but giving her some other gal’s dress? “I wouldn’t like it none.”

“But what if it was beautiful? The prettiest dress you’d ever laid eyes on, made of satin and covered in lace with silk fringe and diamond fripperies embroidered on it? And it was just hanging and getting no use?” Mya asked in a sing-songy voice with one hand clasped to her bosom making the baby giggle at his mama's antics.

“I take your meaning,” Sansa answered primly.

Mya dropped her hand and reached for one of hers. “I don’t think you’re getting the whole meaning though, Sansa. It’d bother you because you feel something for Jon and I think he’s feeling something for you.”

“No, he don’t.”

“Look me in the eye and say that again. Better yet, watch him watching you like I’ve been doing. The way he looks at you, Sansa, he feels things for you, things that aren’t all about what a man can find at a saloon or brothel.” Her cheeks flushed. “Those feelings have nothing to do with you being our boss and him being the new hand neither.”

“Mya, I…”

“You’re lonely and I think he is, too. But more than that I think you two would be good to each other.” Mya stroked her cheek softly with her roughened hand, reminding Sansa of the way Jon had touched her in the barn this morning. God, she wanted him to touch her like that again. “Someone oughta be good to you, Sansa. Someone oughta be good to him, too.”

“We need him on the ranch and if you’re wrong or it don’t go right…I don’t want to mess things up, Mya.” She was scared of risking her heart, too. Hadn’t her heart been battered enough?

“I know. Just don’t close yourself off to what might be, alright?”

She nodded and rode the rest of the way in silence, thinking through what Mya had said.

When they reached town, Rodrik helped her down from the wagon and she made her way into the store. She bought licorice whips for Wex and cough drops for Beth but nothing for Jon. Mya was right and she wouldn’t forget.

Crossing the street, she saw the sheriff who tipped his hat to her. Gaunt but tall with little hair left under his hat, Arnolf Karstark had been less than helpful when some of her horses had been stolen last year. She nodded in response to his courtesy all the same though she might've preferred to stick her tongue out at him.

Next, she paid a brief visit to the saloon to see Brienne. She ordered a lemonade and heard a good deal about Renly Baratheon and his new hotel. She'd never seen Brienne brimming with enthusiasm like this that she could recall.

"You thinking of joining his venture, Brienne?" 

"Oh, no," the woman replied and Sansa was surprised to see a blush bloom across her cheeks. "I just...he's a very friendly fella, is all. It's nice that he, uh...he'll talk to me about it."

"Friendly, huh?" Sansa asked and told herself not to be smirking like Mya would.

"Yes. He got into the hotel business after arguing with his brothers. He said he attended West Point but it sounds like he didn't finish."

"Oh? Both of Willas' brothers attended there."

"Well, I suppose plenty of well-to-do folks send their sons there. His daddy was in tobacco so he's got money to burn on this hotel of his apparently. He ain't nothing to me though." _ I'm starting to doubt that. _ Brienne rubbed her nose and ducked her chin. "He's just the topic of conversation, someone new in town. You know how people talk here in town."

"That I do," Sansa said, finishing her drink. She looked around and lowered her voice. "Is anyone talking about Mr. Snow?" She didn't mean to be a busybody but she would hate for Jon to be the subject of town gossip. He didn't strike her as the sort of man who'd like that. 

"Not that I've heard. He was in here earlier for a drink but he kept to himself after we said our hellos and exchanged a few words." Brienne smiled at her. "He seems very content at your place. Had very high praise for Mrs. Tyrell's cooking and Mrs. Tyrell in general." Now, Sansa was blushing and wondering if Brienne might start smirking at her. "Anyway, he's stayed out at your place pretty much since he arrived here so I don't think anyone much in town even knows he's here if anyone would even know him at all."

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

Brienne became busy with other customers and Sansa decided to head on. She didn’t care for the way men looked at her in the saloon, like she was somewhere between an oddity and a tasty morsel to snap up.

It was funny that her talk with Brienne had brought the Tyrell brothers to mind since her next stop was the post office where a letter awaited her from Margaery. Communication between herself and the Tyrells had slacked off some the past six months and she’d felt some guilt over it. _Well, they’ve not been writing me either._

She opened the letter and read her sister-in-law’s tidings. They did not bring her comfort. Margaery had an elegant hand for writing and a flowery way of angling for what she wanted…what her family wanted. Her brother Loras was twenty-five now and the Tyrells were hoping Sansa might be so good as to allow him to come out and learn some about running a ranch. _Running my ranch._

She was Willas’ widow and the ranch was hers by law but many seemed to think it shouldn’t belong to a woman. It appeared that the Tyrells might feel the same. Or at least, they’d prefer it still belong to a blood relative of theirs.

_"Granny, Mother and Daddy worry over a delicate young lady like yourself being burdened by Willas' business affairs. We think of you often alone out there in the wild west as they say with only a few illiterate and roughhewn ranch hands to help. Loras would consider it an honor to relieve you of some of your troubles and perhaps you might enjoy some more refined company."_

Maybe her and Willas hadn’t been a love match and maybe the more crass sort would say she’d earned her home on her back along with her wedding band but she’d been his wife. He’d made the ranch a success. They’d never laid eyes on it. And, she’d worked every bit as hard in her way for the ranch and their prosperity as anyone since she’d come to Silverhill and worked harder since his passing. She’d done her best to nurse her dying husband back to health through many a sleepless nights but he was gone and the place was hers. 

Loras could come and learn about ranching if he liked but he wasn’t taking the Golden Rose from her.

_“Loras is looking towards matrimony, yearning to settle down at last,”_ the letter had also said.

The free-spirited young man she’d met a time or two at the Tyrells’ during school breaks hadn’t seemed all that keen on settling down or matrimony. He’d been devilishly handsome and as a girl she’d swooned a time or two over his attentions but she’d realized in time his interest in her was fleeting at best.

Did he think to marry his brother’s widow and reclaim the ranch for his family in one fell swoop?

Thoroughly vexed, she decided not to think about it anymore right now. She angrily shoved the letter into her pocket and, without her typical caution, stepped off the sidewalk to return to the wagon where Rodrik was waiting across the way.

“Whoa, there!” a voice called and she shrieked when she was nearly run down by three men on horseback, galloping like madmen down the muddy street.

A strong arm was around her waist and yanking her to safety before she could meet an ignominious end. She turned to thank her savior and sighed gratefully when she saw it was Jon. “You alright?” he asked, looking her over.

“Yes, I’m…thank you.” She was shaking like a leaf and felt embarrassed. “I should’ve been looking where…”

“Nah, they were being reckless. You sure gave me a fright though,” he said gently.

She leaned into him like she’d wanted to do earlier in the barn. He didn't hesitate to wrap her up in his arms. She breathed in deep, melting against him and allowing herself the comfort of his embrace if only for a little bit before she was forced to recall where they were.

She turned to glance at the men on horseback who were calling out their apologies. They sounded like they were laughing. She shivered again when she realized who they were. Ramsay Bolton and two of his cronies, nasty men all three with awful reputations. No decent ranch or cattle drive would hire them around Silverhill now. She hoped they’d move on to some other place before winter set in for good.

Ramsay wheeled his horse around, walking it right up to them, and loomed over her and Jon both, those pale eyes of his making her blood curdle. “You seemed mighty distracted walking out into the street so carelessly, Mrs. Tyrell.”

“Maybe you need to slow down. No need riding through town like the devil’s at your heels,” Jon told him gruffly.

“Well, I guess this fair damsel was lucky you were in town today to sweep her up in your arms, huh, cowpoke?” Ramsay snorted. He looked at Sansa and pointed to Jon. “You gotta be careful here in town, Mrs. Tyrell. There’s all manner brigands come to hide out in these parts and you never can tell who's a sinner and who's a saint.”

She could feel Jon tensing where he held her. He had wore his guns to town and she feared a scene. But, Ramsay chuckled to himself before turning and galloping off on his fine looking Paint with his two friends following like they were his curs. She would swear him and his friends were some of the very ones who’d relieved her of some of her stock last year in the dead of night.

“Who the hell was that?” Jon asked. 

“Just some no good scallywags.”

“Sansa, are you sure you’re alright?”

She wanted to say no and let him hold her longer. Instead, she nodded and said, “I'll be fine but I’d like to go home, Jon.”

"You don't wanna stay for the bonfire and such?"

She shook her head sadly. Her spirits were oppressed from the letter and the run-in with Ramsay. She had no interest in ghost stories and watching folks frighten off evil spirits with silly shenanigans. 

Jon nodded and offered her his arm before escorting her back to the wagon where Rodrik was standing, looking as if he was fit to be tied having witnessed the whole scene from a distance.

“What’d that son-of-a-bitch say to her?” he growled at Jon.

She had a feeling Jon wanted to tell him and maybe ask some questions of his own but he shook his head at Rodrik. “Sansa’s wanting to go home. Go fetch Mya and Wex while I get Licorice from the hitching post over there. I’ll ride back to the ranch with y’all.” He helped her into the back of the wagon. He held one of her hands and the other was at her waist until she had her seat again, making her tummy flutter terribly but in a different manner than the earlier danger had. “Here, I got these at the store.” He held up three small paper sacks. “The licorice whips are for Wex and the cough drops are for Beth but I thought maybe you might like these lemon drops, ma'am. Brienne mentioned you being fond of her lemonade.”

She sat there mutely as he dropped them into her lap, too dazed to even thank him for his thoughtfulness. He tipped his hat before striding off to fetch his horse.

Sansa stuck a lemon drop in her mouth and knew without a doubt that Mya had been right about her feeling things for Jon Snow. What she felt for him was well beyond anything she’d feel for any ranch hand. In fact, it might be different than anything she’d ever felt for any man before in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descend_N2_Madness introduced me to something very cool from YouTube I wanted to share with everyone, Game of Thrones music done Wild West style! Here's links to three well-known pieces of music from the show. 
> 
> [Game of Thrones Opening Theme Music](https://youtu.be/a8haD0CuniE)
> 
> [House Stark Theme aka The West Remembers](https://youtu.be/hMxwydEJCFo)
> 
> [Rains of Castamere aka Red Noon](https://youtu.be/r0B085sv7uo)
> 
> Thanks again for sharing these, Descend, and thank you, Brad, for showing me how to add links!
> 
> I'm taking some time off next week with my husband but I'll try and get another chapter up before then :)


	6. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns what he can of Ramsay Bolton from Rodrik and is experiencing A LOT of emotions when it comes to Sansa. And the Golden Rose is about to have a visitor or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning-very briefly mentioned violence against Native Americans as Jon reflects on his past troubles with Thorne and his men and brief mentions of Ramsay's crimes.
> 
> Thank you, Amy, for reading over a section of this in advance and calming my fears :D

The day had been one his mama would’ve described as being of the up and down variety.

_“Like galloping across a meadow on a fine filly feeling free as a bird one second until you see you’re barreling down on a fence that you’re not completely convinced she can clear, there’ll be days you’ll know elation and fear, worry and relief, joy and heartache all between sunrise and sunset, my sweet boy.”_

That pretty much summed up the range of feelings he'd had today and Jon Snow wasn't a man who spent a good deal of time reflecting on his feelings ordinarily. However, from the moment he’d spied Sansa coming towards the barn that morning with her red braid swinging behind her and her blue shawl on, his insides had been all torn up one way or the other.

Sharing their losses and comforting each other had been something special though. He’d not realized how it could bring a sense of ease to talk about it until then.

Then, stroking her cheek and holding hands as they stood there face to face had led to another bout of temptation, an overwhelming desire to kiss her with everything he had. It was only the cow’s bellowing which had kept him from doing just that.

_And like an idiot you had to let your pride ruin the moment._

Alright, maybe it’d not been ruined altogether but a passing comment from Rodrik had made him see from where the clothes Sansa had been giving him had come. He was ashamed that he hadn’t cottoned on sooner and irritated by how much it had bothered him. They were just clothes and he’d needed them just like he’d need a good coat. Mr. Tyrell couldn’t use them. So, why had he been fine accepting them when he’d imagined they’d been left behind by past hired hands as opposed to belonging to the man she’d called her husband?

Because he was _her_ husband. _There’s you answer though you’re a fool to be jealous of a corpse._

He was though. He was coming to care very deeply for Sansa. In fact, he suspected he might be falling in love with her. And, even though everything he’d heard of the man told him Willas had been good to her, he couldn’t quite bring himself to like him all that much because of those feelings.

After acting churlish over breakfast and nursing his asinine resentments against a dead man, he’d done his work and then headed off towards town on his own, half tempted to get good and soaked while he was there. But seeing Brienne had brought Sansa firmly back to mind and he couldn’t bring himself to drink away his pay like that and maybe act like a fool and it get back to her.

Instead, he’d wandered over to the store to buy his own coat and then tried to think of something he might get her. He’d fingered some pretty calico fabric and some soft muslin too, thinking she might could make something for herself until he'd noticed a couple of women watching him, looking amused. He'd supposed he didn't look much like a seamstress. He wasn’t her husband nor was he her beau either. He was her employee and buying her fabric wouldn't be proper.

Telling his pride that a sack of hard candy might not be much but at least it was something while simultaneously telling propriety that it was just candies and he was getting something for Wex and Beth too, he’d selected those. He’d have liked to have picked her some flowers to go with them but late October wasn’t flower picking time and he wouldn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Or actually the right impression since he’d dearly love to court Sansa Stark Tyrell if their situations were different.

“I said I was in a bad way a while back, Ghost. Just so you know, it’s getting worse and I don’t see it getting better anytime soon,” he murmured under his breath after supper.

The dog laid his head in his lap, offering what sympathy he could for his fool of a friend.

The wind was howling outside and there was a time or two Ghost looked tempted to howl with it. Jon couldn’t say he blamed him. His skin felt tight and stretched like he needed to unleash something pent up inside him.

Back in the bunkhouse, Jon and Ghost were sitting by the fire with Wex who was sharpening his knife when Rodrik joined them to share what he knew of the men who’d nearly rode Sansa down.

His heart had about leapt out of his chest when he’d seen the danger and then he’d been flooded with relief once he’d pulled her to safety. After that though, rage had taken hold towards those men. Basically, he’d been running that gambit of emotions all day just like his mama had said.

Sansa had been as kind and cheerful as usual at supper but Jon hadn’t missed the way she’d been trembling in his arms after her scare and especially after she’d seen who was responsible for the scare. Holding her in his arms was something he’d keenly longed for but not like that. He didn’t want her to be afraid of nothing or nobody.

And to be honest, he’d been rattled as well when Bolton had eyed him and mentioned brigands, sinners and saints.

He knew in his heart that he’d done what was right when he’d defied Thorne and his men over the small band of young Arapaho braves they’d discovered following their cattle drive. It had been a hard winter and Jon couldn’t say he much blamed them for picking off a couple of acorns to feed their people after everything the white man had taken from them. But of course, Thorne the trail master hadn’t seen it that way.

The old fears and older prejudices had been raised to a fever pitch by nightfall, all over two scrawny steers out of twelve hundred head, animals that could’ve easily been lost along the trail regardless.

Being no more than nineteen at the time, speaking up to men twice his age had been hard. Seeing his companions in the train turn from friends to enemies in a heartbeat had been harder. Going over to warn the Indians of what was coming their way had been relatively easy by comparison once he’d made his choice.

The fight that had ensued had been brief but bloody and, in the end, Jon hadn’t managed to save them except the few who’d skinned out once they’d seen the writing on the wall.

Wounded and left for dead, Jon had awoke to find a white pup licking his face. He’d started walking with the little pup always staying right ahead of him. Jon hadn’t been sure if he was a dog with some wolf in him or a wolf with some dog in him. He’d tried scaring him off, figuring he couldn’t care for the animal, but Ghost had stuck by him. By the time he’d led him to one of the Arapaho’s horses grazing, he’d become convinced that Ghost had been sent to guide him. Yes, he’d been feverish from his wounds at the time but he still believed it.

He’d had that horse for five years before he’d been forced to sell him. He’d never leave Ghost though and Ghost would never leave him, just like the ghosts of those fallen braves never would.

Thorne and his men had made it to Kansas before Jon and he’d arrived to find himself accused of things that weren’t true. He'd thought the hangman was about to give him a short drop with a quick stop but fate had other things in mind for him apparently. 

The local lawman, a well-respected individual, hadn’t believed Thorne and his men's tales being as he happened to be friends with the chief of the Arapahos and he'd already heard a few tales of his own from them.

Jon had found himself a free man but he knew how Alliser Thorne would cherish a grudge. Frontier justice being how it was, Jon had also supposed that someone might listen to Thorne eventually. He'd decided that moving on was probably the only way to save his hide for what it was worth and nipped out of town with Ghost before the sun rose the next day. 

He couldn’t bear Sansa finding out about his past and maybe wanting him gone for it. Not that he thought Sansa would see things Thorne’s way but what if she heard the lies they’d told of him? He couldn’t risk that. This place was becoming his home and the people here like his family. And, Sansa was becoming his…everything.

_Ain’t no point in denying it even if nothing ever comes of it._

And tonight, he wanted to learn whatever he could of anyone who might threaten Sansa and their place here.

“What kind of trouble he been in?”

“Enough to get his neck stretched,” Rodrik answered.

“Like what?”

“Cattle rustling, horse theft…rape from what I’ve heard.”

“Why’s he still breathing?”

“His daddy’s friends with Karstark."

"You mean the sheriff?"

"Yeah, they go back a ways from what I hear." Wex started angrily gesturing towards where the stables lay. "I know, boy, but we ain't got no proof."

"Proof of what?"

"That the horses we had stolen last year was stole by either Ramsay or some of his friends for his daddy to later sell and the sheriff knows it."

"Son of a bitch!"

"You can say that again. Anyway, Old Roose managed to get his boy out of more than a few scrapes but I heard he cut him off recently. Ramsay pissed off Daddy and now the well’s running dry.”

“That don’t sound too good. Men like that get desperate, they get even more dangerous.”

“You’re right but he’s none of our concern. He worked here for a brief spell a few years back but Mr. Tyrell ran him off after he heard that he’d beat one of the local doves half to death one night when he was drunk.”

Wex flung his knife into the wooden floor to show his disgust. It made a twanging sound as it vibrated from the force of the throw. Rodrik chastised the boy for it but Jon thought it summed up his own feelings rather well.

A rumbling growl was building inside his chest and he bit out his next few words with emphasis. “I’ll ask again…_why is he still breathing?”_

“His daddy, I reckon, and the owner of that establishment had always valued his customer’s coin over his girls. Guess that’s why one of them finally slit his throat one night. Anyway, Ramsay’s already been turned off this place once, none too gently. He’d be a fool to come around expecting a warm welcome.”

_But Mr. Tyrell had a lot more hired hands around back then_, Jon wanted to say but he kept his silence and vowed he’d keep his Colts at the ready while he was at it.

* * *

The early November afternoon was sunny but there was a nip in the air that Jon would swear foretold a heavier snow headed their way. He was still mulling over the run-in with Ramsay Bolton in town but, so far, all had been quiet around the ranch. Perhaps the man would move on with winter coming like the others seemed to hope.

Speaking of those moving on, they'd had a visitor today come to purchase a horse. At least, the feller, who was somewhere between grass and hay, had intended to purchase a horse.

Jon and Mya had been down at the corral when he’d come upon them with his hat in hand. _“Good day. Cletus Yronwood, sir. I’m in need of a horse if you’ve any to sell,”_ he’d politely said to Jon.

_“We got horses to sell,”_ Mya had told him.

_"Is this here your ranch, mister?" _

Jon hadn’t missed Mya’s huff of annoyance at being given an insolent look of dismissal before she was promptly ignored. _"No, but I’ll fetch Mrs. Tyrell, the owner for you and maybe you can conduct business with her,”_ he’d replied.

Wex had beat him to it though and Sansa was already coming down from the house when Jon had seen the way the young man’s eyes had widened at the sight of her and then a smirk had started spreading across his face. “_Well, I’ll be…”_

_You’ll be sorry is what you’ll be if you say one offensive word to her,_ Jon had decided.

Now though, he almost felt sorry for the young near-do-well calling himself a prospector as Sansa rattled long at a quick clip, letting him know her prices and that there’d be no budging on them. He was looking for a fresh horse to carry him to California for gold mining after his had died on him. Damned fool would likely freeze to death in the mountains if he continued his journey this time of year. Jon couldn’t say he cared much for the stranger’s hide but he’d hate for the fine mare he was eyeing to be lost with him over pure avarice.

He’d wandered several feet away once the introductions were made to allow Sansa to conduct her business without it seeming like he was watching over her or had any say in how she ran her ranch. The man was young and maybe it wasn’t too late for him to relearn a few things like the fact that a woman could handle the sale of a horse as readily as a man.

He scowled at the jackanape as he bowed and attempted to kiss Sansa’s hand once they’d finished talking. He was handsome in a way despite his lazy eye. However, Jon was ludicrously pleased when she jerked her hand free of Yronwood's but offered it to be shook the next instant instead. The fellow, properly put in his place, shook her hand and then Mya's before setting back towards town on foot. It looked like the horse would be staying put.

“He change his mind?” he asked as he joined them again.

“He did once Sansa gave him a new idea. You saved his life, talking him out of going,” Mya said to her.

“I did nothing except mention that Mr. Tallhart could use an extra hand with improvements for the mill over the winter and that we had a fine new hotel opening soon as well as a couple of decent boarding houses and that surely not all the gold in California would disappear by spring.”

Mya shook her head before leading the dappled mare away. Sansa remained beside him, her hands clasped before her as she watched him coiling up rope. Her standing so close left him flummoxed and sorely tempted more and more lately to act on his feelings but he wouldn’t. However, he couldn’t exactly keep working in silence and ignore her like some cur, could he?

“Mya’s right. You did him a kindness suggesting he winter in Silverhill.”

“Anyone would’ve done the same,” she shrugged.

“Nah, not anyone. I’d say most would’ve sold a fool like that some crowbait for five times its worth and then counted up his dollars without a qualm while he was freezing to death in the mountains two weeks from now.”

She frowned at his pessimism. How she'd managed to hang onto her goodness and hope with all she’d endured, Jon didn't know but he loved that about her. “I hope you don’t believe any of our stock could be considered crowbait, Mr. Snow,” she said a touch frostily.

“Why, no, ma’am. Not a one of ‘em is that though maybe one of your hands is,” he said with a wink which he was pleased to see melted that frostiness right away. 

Not wishing to be at odds with her at all, he cast about for something else amiable he could say.

The apples of her cheeks were a rosy red from the blustery day. Her hair was a bit wild from the wind and he was reminded of red silk ribbons whenever one of those loose tendrils would fly into her face. He wanted to brush them back for her…or maybe suggest she take her hair down instead so it could all blow freely. Her blue eyes were shining so bright, making his chest achy again. She looked radiant. He could hardly say that, could he? He needed to strike upon something less personal to say.

“That sure is a pretty dress you’re wearing today, Sansa. The blue roses are, uh...” He trailed off as his face grew hot. _Might as well say how her eyes sparkle like diamonds and you dream of her lips every night while you’re at it._

No matter though because Sansa was smiling. “Thank you, Jon. It’s one I haven’t worn in a good while,” she said as she touched the delicate rose pattern.

Their eyes locked and he sure did like those rosy cheeks and that smile. Jon laid the now coiled rope over the fence post, casting about for something else sweet to tell her.

Before he could manage it though, Mya returned, looking like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “That feller was lucky he was dealing with Sansa and not me after the way he was behaving at first.” Jon would agree but at the moment he’d like to tell Mya how unwelcome her presence was. He bit his lip and nodded instead. “Just you wait until Mr. Loras comes, Sansa. It’ll be worse and I doubt he’ll take a step back to show who's in charge around here like Jon did.”

“Mr. Loras?” Jon asked.

Sansa’s big blue eyes were wide and troubled when she turned his way. “Yes, I received a letter from my sister-in-law when we went to town the other day. Willas’ youngest brother is coming out to stay for a few weeks. The train’s expected to bring him on the 20th.”

“The 20th?”

“A few weeks?" Mya interrupted. "They didn’t give you no timeframe for how long he was staying, Sansa.”

“Yes, Mya, I know that,” Sansa said a bit sharply. “Regardless, Mr. Loras Tyrell will be coming to the Golden Rose on the 20th to help out and learn some about horse ranching. He’s apparently interested in…”

“Taking the ranch from you.”

“Mya, please. No one is taking…”

“‘Settling down and matrimony,’ Sansa. You know what she’s hinting at! You know I’d never say a word against Willas but the rest of that family…”

Jon watched the two women bickering with a sinking, sick feeling in his gut. He hadn’t even realized there were more Tyrell men out there but now there was one coming all this way, a younger version of Willas with Sansa’s ranch and maybe matrimony on his mind? 

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said gruffly before he turned on his heel and headed up to the barn.

He didn’t have any purpose in going there. He just knew he wasn’t going to be able to speak rationally about Mr. Loras and his visit right now. He couldn't tell her all the reasons he hated the notion or why because then he'd wind up admitting those things that maybe he'd never get to admit. It wasn’t his place to ask her to send Mr. Loras a telegram and tell him to stay in…well, wherever the hell he hailed from either.

His hands were already balling up into fists when Ghost appeared at his side, whimpering softly.

“Goddammit, Ghost. I know how slim my chances are of her ever being mine but why’s this feller gotta come out here now and…what am I supposed to do? What will I do if he starts courting her? What if she wants to be courted by him?!" 

Was the pretty dress she hadn’t worn in a while a sign of things to come? Did she want to be courted by this Loras Tyrell who’d be here on the 20th? The thoughts of some swell, some rich man coming out here to pursue her and him stuck watching it all as the hired hand wearing her dead husband's hand-me-downs was more than he thought he could bear. Jealousy might eat him alive if heart break didn't kill him first. 

"What if…shit. What if him coming means she don’t need me around no more?”

Was he about to be sent on this way? With his pay, he'd have enough for him and Ghost to winter at Heddle's but then what? He didn't want to go nowhere else. He wanted to be here...with her...always. 

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the way they burned, and he fought to control the rising panic at the thoughts of not only losing any chance with her but also losing him and Ghost’s place here. He was breathing hard, liked he’d been running. He paced the barn, feeling wild and unsteady. It was his own fault. He’d let his guard down and let himself get close to somebody and what good had that ever done him? He needed to squash these feelings for her. No, that was impossible. He needed to bury them deep down instead. He needed to learn to keep his distance and keep his stupid, pining heart from wanting something he couldn’t ever have.

But when the barndoor opened a few seconds later and he saw her standing there with her hands clasped together and a worried look on her face, knowing she’d followed him here, he knew he wasn't capable of any of that at all. He longed to close the distance between them, pull her into his arms and bare his soul to her.

Before he could act so forward though, she spoke, her voice like a balm to his tortured feelings. “I don’t want you thinking him coming means anything for you or your position. I don’t particularly want him to come to be honest but I’m letting him out of respect for Willas. I don’t know how long he may stay but I don't want you to be fretting. Loras couldn’t ever replace you around here, Jon. We need you.” She swallowed hard and took a step forward. "I want you to stay for as long as you want to be here."

God Almighty, he loved this woman more than anything. She was so thoughtful and considerate, always taking the feelings of others into consideration even after he'd run off like an offended boy in the school yard. She deserved all the love and respect in the world. He wanted to give her everything, his love and his tenderness, his heart and soul, rubies and pearls and everything she'd ever wanted. He wanted to be worthy of her. 

Maybe he never would be that but he wouldn't ever leave her unless she wanted him gone someday. No matter what Loras Tyrell intended or what Sansa might think of him, Jon vowed then and there he'd never run off in haste and leave her to chase after him again. 

He took a step towards her and removed his hat, holding it over his heart. It was still beating hard but at least it didn't hurt so bad as earlier anymore. “Thank you, Sansa. I promise I ain’t going nowhere. I reckon you'll be stuck with me and Ghost until you've had a bellyful of us."

Her sweet pink lips twitched into a shy smile. "Well, Ghost is awfully useful around here so I suppose that won't be happening."

Ghost barked and tossed his head. "He's grateful for that, ma'am, and glad you're willing to put up with me for his sake." 

They shared a chuckle over that. Then, he bowed his head to her and she dipped hers in response before lifting her skirts to depart, leaving him and Ghost alone in the barn with Bessie.

Ghost ruffed at him, knocking his head into his thigh.

“Yeah, I know, boy,” he laughed in response to the disappointed look his dog gave him. “I’m in a terrible way for her, head over heels, a goner for certain, and my worries over what’s proper are wearing mighty thin. We'll see what happens, I suppose. We're not going anywhere anyway.” He put his hat back on. "Come on. We got work to do. Can't be hiding out in here until suppertime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist using Cletus Yronwood for the bit part of the would-be prospector here because anyone named Cletus belongs in a Western :)
> 
> Next chapter will bring Loras to the ranch and I hope to post that (as well as some other stuff) once I'm back from my time off. Thank you so much for reading!!


	7. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras Tyrell arrives in town and Sansa's experiencing an unpleasant reaction to Beth's plans for the day. Hello, Jealousy.

_“Do you think he’s worried about his job here?”_ she’d asked Mya when he’d stalked away so suddenly that afternoon earlier in the month.

_“Maybe but I don’t think worrying over his job is what troubles him the most about Mr. Loras coming.”_

Mya’s knowing look and words aside, she’d been a bundle of nerves when she’d gone to seek him out at the barn, afraid that he feared Loras might take his place from him.

_“Loras couldn’t ever replace you around here, Jon. We need you. I want you to stay for as long as you want to be here."_

_“Thank you, Sansa. I promise I ain’t going nowhere. I’ll stay until you’ve had a bellyful of me, I reckon.”_

The soft look in his eyes when he’d approached her and said those words had nearly been the undoing of all her ladylike restraint. What would he have thought if she’d stumbled towards him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she’d wanted to right then?

She hadn’t done that of course but no man could ever take his place she was coming to believe and she didn’t necessarily mean with regards to the ranch. It was foolish of her perhaps but she was longing something fierce for Jon Snow.

However, he was her employee and she had a ranch to run. Could such a thing be possible without it ultimately ending in heartache?

_He’s a good man, an honorable one. He wouldn’t take off on you like Michel did Mya even with no baby coming. If he felt anything for you like what you feel for him, he’d marry you._

_See, that’s the thing though. Am I ready to be married again?_

She was only twenty and no one would expect her to remain a widow indefinitely but marrying again would mean giving up something. Legally speaking at least, the ranch would become her husband’s property as soon as they said, ‘I do.’ It’s not that she wouldn’t welcome sharing her burdens with the right man but to be told ‘thank you for your hard work these past three years but now I prefer you to stick to women’s work and rearing the children and let me run things as I see fit’ didn’t sound all that agreeable.

Was that what she'd expect of Jon? No, especially given how he'd behaved during Mr. Yronwood's visit. But, she also needed to be honest and admit she'd not known him all that long. She had more than her own self to think of when it came to her ranch and talk of marriage to any man, too.

But, despite those concerns, she was pleased that Jon had clearly grown more assured of his place at the Golden Rose after their talk that day. His looks were no longer touched by that occasional hesitancy and concern she’d seen the first few weeks when he’d be explaining his handling of a horse or offering an opinion on something and then looking to her for a nod of approval. Mya no longer mentioned him worrying over if Sansa was satisfied with him or not either.

_Oh, I'm satisfied with him. I’d like to be satisfied by him in more ways than one to be honest._

She gasped at her wickedness and then quietly laughed under her breath.

The clock chimed the hour reminding her of other matters. She needed to stop dillydallying and get dressed for town. She couldn’t go greet her brother-in-law in the working dress she’d been wearing earlier.

She’d cast aside her widow’s tweeds months ago as soon as it was acceptable but it had been a while since she’d worn her fancier, fit-for-town type dresses. Well, most of them. She’d pulled the maroon one with the blue roses out the other day without any real reason.

_No reason except you wanted to see how Jon might look at you when you were wearing it._

She shook her head, telling herself she was being silly. Maybe he did look at her a bit wistfully as Mya said but she wouldn’t go getting her hopes up too high just yet.

There was a discrete knock at the door and she asked who it was, her heart fluttering wildly at the thoughts of Jon coming in to find her in her current state of dishabille. Was the thought more frightening or tantalizing? She blushed, knowing the answer.

She'd heard him and Rodrik talking in the parlor. It was unusual for them to be in the house this time of day but Rodrik was coming to town with her and Jon was apparently voicing some concerns to the older man, no doubt linked to their previous trip there.

“It’s me,” a sweet young voice replied and Beth slipped in. “I figured I’d help you with your corset.”

“Thank you, Beth. I’m almost ready for it.”

In her drawers, chemise and stockings, she slipped on her boots since tying them once her corset was laced was nearly impossible for any woman who liked breathing. Once Beth had finished tugging it tight, she helped her pull the bodice cover over it and then attached the bustle. Lord, how she hated wearing a bustle and hoped they might go out of fashion one of these days. Then, came her petticoats and at last the light grey dress with ivory lace trim.

“You look beautiful, Sansa.”

_Will Jon think so?_ Her heart gave a giddy thump at the thoughts of him seeing her. “Thank you, Beth.”

“Did you want help fixing up your hair?”

“Oh, the bun will do,” she said, giving it a pat before grabbing her hat and gloves.

“Are you sure you don’t want to fix it up special for him?”

She turned to look at the girl and smiled. Beth had a romantic disposition like herself and may have imagined Mr. Loras Tyrell coming was something for which she’d been longing. She’d be wrong though. _If there’s any man I’d want to fix my hair up special for, it’d be the one speaking with your daddy right now._

“No, Beth. It’ll be fine as is. Did you want to come into town with us?” Perhaps she’d enjoy the outing since she’d missed their last trip into town when she was down with her cough.

The girl’s smile was wistful and her cheeks were a becoming peachy pink when she replied, “No, that’s alright. I think I’ll stay here today." She rocked back and forth on her heels and whispered, "Jon said I could ride along on Dolly when he goes to check the fence around the winter pasture today.”

"Jon said?"

"Uh huh."

"Pod was gonna check it, I thought." 

"He sent word 'round that he's needed at his uncle's and won't be able to come out for a few days," Beth shrugged.

"Oh, alright," Sansa said, hoping all was well. His uncle was a grim, silent man most of the time but she knew he could be a terror when he was drinking. Meanwhile, she was also wondering why she felt so vexed by the idea of Beth going riding with Jon. "I can't recall the last time I saw you ride, Beth."

“Gracious, it’s been a while! I hope I won’t embarrass myself and fall off or something in front of Jon.” Sansa started to reassure her that she would be fine and that she was sure Jon wouldn't tease even if she did but then Beth added, “He promises he’ll go at my pace but I suppose if there's trouble I could always ride on Licorice with him." Sansa bit her tongue not liking this notion at all or the wishful way Beth suggested it. "Come to think of it, when’s the last time you rode, Sansa?”

She frowned at the suspiciously pert tone. She cast a cool eye Beth's way and the girl ducked her chin. Admittedly, she hadn’t gone riding in a good while...and Jon had never asked her to go riding with him.

_And why would he? You're both too busy working to go riding off for pleasure. You don’t even know for sure that he asked Beth. She may very well have asked to tag along._

Beth was a dear girl and Sansa loved her like a little sister. But while Mya often accused her of not paying enough attention to the way Jon looked at her, she had not missed the way Beth looked at Jon. The girl was clearly a bit sweet on the handsome ranch hand, not that he seemed to notice. So, what of it? It was nothing for her to feel any jealousy over naturally. Beth was far too young for Jon, only seventeen to his twenty-four years.

_And how old were you when you came and married Willas again? Seventeen to his twenty-nine years, wasn’t it?_

Piqued by the thought, she tugged her gloves on hastily and reminded Beth that she’d appreciate her help with supper later.

She left her room with her hat perched on top of her bun and her excess of petticoats swinging about her legs, yearning pathetically for Jon’s eyes to widen when he saw her in the dress and a bustle for the first time.

But when she reached the parlor, Rodrik was alone with his hat in hand. “Shall we go, ma’am?” he asked in his kindly way as she was left feeling defeated by Jon’s absence.

_He has work to do after all and he’s never one to shirk his chores._

But Beth singing to herself as she walked towards the kitchen left her unable to manage more than a curt nod to Rodrik.

* * *

The long dying note of the train’s whistle echoed back from the nearby mountains and Sansa told herself to stop fiddling with her hat. He was coming to learn something of ranching. He would _not_ be taking her ranch from her. 

The locomotive chugged to a halt and the brakes howled and hissed as steam wafted along the platform. It had come a good snow last week but it was mostly melted off today leaving the streets a muddy mess. Up on the platform at least her skirts were safe.

_Safe? Your dress and petticoats are already four inches deep in mud,_ she thought with a sigh.

Loras Tyrell was one of the very first figures to emerge from the train wearing a crisp black frock coat, freshly polished boots and a plum colored cravat peeping out from his light grey vest. He was every bit as handsome as she recalled from their meetings in the Tyrells' parlor back east when she was younger. Golden brown curls nearly matching his golden brown eyes with a lively, intelligent look in them. 

Sansa had nursed some girlish disappointment when she'd first laid eyes on Willas and discovered he was not near as handsome as his younger brother but, in the end, he'd been a kind and faithful husband. She didn't know if the same could or would be said of Loras someday. She didn't plan on finding out personally. 

He gracefully crossed the platform with several sets of feminine eyes already following him. 

_Perhaps Beth will find him handsome and decide to swoon over him for a bit instead. _

She bit the inside of her cheek and plastered on a smile. He removed his top hat when he spied her, tucking it under an elbow before he gave her a courtly bow and took her hand.

“My darling sister-in-law, how you’ve grown up since we last met! You're a sight for sore eyes! That dress is very becoming on you, if you'll allow me to say so. I've always admired your good taste.” He pressed a properly chaste, somewhat perfunctory kiss to the back of her gloved hand before putting his hat back on. 

She suspected the dress would be considered outdated and quaint in New York or Philadelphia but she accepted his compliment with good grace. “Thank you, Mr. Loras. You are too kind.” He smiled to himself, pleased by her appreciation of his gentlemanly manners. She grasped for something suitable to say in reply, remembering he’d always been something of a dandy. “Permit me to say your coat and vest are quite fine, the most fashionable I’ve seen here in Silverhill.” He definitely swelled at that. “But…it’s terribly muddy at present from melted snows so I hope that will not trouble you.”

He wrinkled his nose up as he looked down at her skirts and then his clothes, clearly displeased with the thoughts of spoiling his Sunday Best. _Or is it his Sunday Best?_ she wondered after he’d snapped his fingers at one of the porter to go and fetch his trunks. _Trunks…as in more than one. So much for a few weeks_, she thought with a sigh.

No, she’d known better than to truly believe he’d only meant to stay a few weeks. A person didn’t travel nearly 1800 miles by train to only visit for a short spell but she’d hoped.

Sansa turned to introduce Rodrik but Loras had more pressing matters in mind. “Aw, here we go,” he said as two boys around twelve and skinny as whippets appeared bearing his trunks. “Will you see these are stowed with care, my good man? And perhaps when we reach the ranch someone would be good enough to polish my boots. They were quite costly,” he told Rodrik before giving each boy a penny and offering her his arm. “Shall we, my dear?”

Sansa shot Rodrik an apologetic look. The poor old man looked ready to eat his whiskers. And what had he called her? _My dear_. She did not care for the endearment…not from him.

“This way,” she said with courtesy she didn’t quite feel.

* * *

  
  
It had felt like a long and wearisome day and it was not over yet, Sansa reflected as she rolled her neck in the kitchen, grateful to be back in her more usual attire once more. She could not bring herself to dress in britches like Mya did but she’d grown used to wearing her less-restrictive stays, no bustle and lighter petticoats except on the coldest days along with dresses that allowed her to breathe.

Mrs. Tyrell and her own mother might’ve fainted dead away at the way women dressed out here but Sansa had been adapting to this place for three years. She had to admit she liked the freedoms, precious and few though they were, that women here enjoyed here compared to the more constrained expectations she’d lived under back east.

Her head had started to ache not long after they’d returned from town so she’d taken her hair down as well. It was probably not proper but they were all like family here, something Loras would need to learn. Also, she secretly wondered if Jon might like seeing it down again.

She carried a fresh apple pie to the table and peeked into the parlor where Loras had been sitting the past hour. He was engaged in reading over some letters he’d exchanged with Willas many moons ago and smoking a cigar. He had only just arrived and she hadn’t expected him to throw himself into working on the ranch today but there was a slight air of idleness at the image he presented where he sat in Willas’ chair by the fire, which was now generally occupied by her at night, as he smoked and read.

Her nostrils burned from the unfamiliar and acrid aroma of the cigar but her eyes were red-rimmed for another reason. For all his exuberant and somewhat entitled ways, Loras had truly loved his big brother and his grief when they’d arrived at the ranch and he’d looked over some of the little mementos his brother had brought with him from back east had touched her deeply. Sansa was not a woman to let others cry alone when she could just as easily join them after all.

“Supper’s nearly ready, Loras,” she called.

He didn’t even raise his head. “Thank you, Sansa. It smells good. Have you tried the new hotel’s restaurant yet?”

“No, I rarely go to town and it only opened last week, I believe.”

“We must go sometime soon,” he murmured before he continued his reading.

Beth had returned from her ride with Jon not long ago and had looked chilled through and rather worn so Sansa had urged her to lie down. She knocked on her door and softly called that supper was ready if she wished to come to table and then headed to the back porch to ring the dinner bell.

To her surprise, the back porch was already occupied. “Oh, Jon! I didn’t expect you to be here already!” She was pleased to see him though having not laid eyes on him since breakfast.

“Yes, I came up early because…well, here.” He scratched his whiskers with his free hand as the others held out some flowers.

She closed the door behind her to keep the cold out of the house, her heart pumping hard and her wits feeling scattered. She wanted to accept any flowers he chose to give her without an audience, too. “Thank you, Jon. They’re lovely. I’m surprised anything’s still blooming.”

“They ain’t much but when I was checking the winter pasture, I found ‘em. They’re just millet grass and mountain snowberry that the cold and snow ain’t got to yet.”

“I love them,” she said with a wistfulness she could not disguise. “I love the snowberries especially.”

“I’d hoped you might. They’re delicate looking things but hardier than you’d think,” he said, raising his eyes to hers.

Did he mean what she thought he meant by that? Did he know how he affected her with his words and his sweet gestures? _I love you,_ she thought with an ache so sudden and powerful she felt lightheaded.

He looked shy and ducked his chin the next moment. “I just thought with us having a new addition joining us today you might like to have something special to decorate your table.”

She didn’t want to think of Loras when she accepted the flowers. She liked imagining that he’d picked them with only her in mind. Still, he had picked them and brought them and that meant something, didn’t it?

The backdoor opened unexpectedly and Beth joined them. “Sansa, ain’t you…oh, Jon! I was coming to ring the bell since I hadn’t heard Sansa ring it yet. What are those?” Beth asked, peering at the flowers. They had both been caught off guard by the interruption, the less than welcome intrusion.

“They’re some flowers that…”

“Did you really pick them?” Beth asked before laughing gaily. “I thought you were joking about taking some, Jon. You’re too sweet! I’m sure Sansa’s got a pretty vase for them, don’t you? What will Mr. Loras think of them though?” the girl chuckled.

She strode over and clanged the bell to signal to Wex and her father that supper was ready before dashing back inside. Sansa hated the stab of jealousy coursing through her over Beth simply being present when Jon had found the flowers. It somehow diminished her pleasure in his thoughtfulness and she didn’t wish for it to.

She took the flowers from his hand and pasted on as bright of a smile as she could manage. “Well, come on in. I’ve baked an apple pie as a treat tonight since I recall you liking the last one.” _That I did for you, not him,_ she wanted to say. “We best not tarry or the rest of it will be getting cold. I’ll put these in a vase and introduce you to Loras.”

Jon removed his hat and the smile he gave her was sweet though a touch sad, she thought. “Yes, ma’am. I'll be glad to make his acquaintance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know several of you love Jealous Jon (I do as well) but I hope you're not too disappointed to get Jealous Sansa this time. Sticking to one character's POV per chapter and switching off instead of multiple character POVs per chapter is not something I do very often but I'm doing it for now anyway. 
> 
> We will get Jon's thoughts on Loras next chapter :)


	8. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Loras. Later, someone needs Jon’s help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of assault/abuse this chapter.
> 
> Amazing moodboard by @dena-1984. Thank you so much, honey!!!

[](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard#)

* * *

_“Yes, ma’am. I'll be glad to make his acquaintance.”_

If he’d been forced to lay his hand upon the Bible at that moment, Jon Snow wouldn’t have been able to swear that he was in fact all that glad at the prospect of making the acquaintance of Mr. Loras Tyrell. Lucky for him, there were no Bibles being waved under his nose so he gave Sansa the best smile he could muster and said the appropriate words before they headed into the house for supper and introductions.

Despite his fib, her words that day in the barn had stayed with him, solidifying his feelings for her even if they were still only known to himself while also reassuring that bastard boy within who’d been seeking acceptance and approval for as long as he could remember that he had a home here and he would not be turned away with a few dollars and a ‘thank you for your efforts.’

So, even though he had concerns of a personal nature about Tyrell coming, he was no longer worried over losing his place on the ranch at least.

“Loras, allow me to introduce you to Jon Snow who we’re very blessed to have as part of our little family here at the Golden Rose.”

_Well, that sure is sweet to hear._ His nose twitched at the unfamiliar odor of a cigar in the parlor. Then, the man who’d been sitting in Sansa’s preferred chair by the hearth and smoking it stood to greet him. _Well...shit._

Yes, he knew she had said she didn’t particularly want Mr. Loras to come and was only doing it out of respect for Willas but her feelings on the matter could change if she found him agreeable company, couldn’t they? After all, there’s many a slip betwixt a cup and a lip and the part of Jon that’d been dreading this day for over two weeks now was dismayed to find that Mr. Loras Tyrell was unquestionably and indisputably handsome. _There ain’t really any other word for it._

“Mr. Snow,” the man said affably, offering his hand, “Sansa tells me you’re nearly indispensable around here though she’s said that of everyone, I believe. I look forward to working with you.”

He was grinning as he said it, all courteous and such._ How can teeth be that damn white?_ Rodrik had already been grumbling to him and Mya down at the barn about Tyrell hinting at someone giving his boots a polish and Jon gave Mr. Loras’ attire a glance. _A dandy for certain but I’ll be damned before I shine your shoes_.

Regardless, he clasped the offered hand…maybe a touch more forceful than necessary. Maybe _more_ than just a touch to be honest. The man’s smile faltered and for a hair of a second that pleased Jon until he reflected upon what his mama would think of his behavior. _What’s wrong with you? Shake his hand proper, you ass._

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tyrell,” he said as he lessened his grip. His eyes darted towards Sansa, hoping he hadn’t been caught trying to break the man’s hand. She was smiling serenely back at him so perhaps his momentary pettiness would pass unnoticed. “Please, just call me Jon, sir.”

When he looked back at Tyrell, he was observing them both…and smirking ever so slightly. “Very well, Jon. You’re welcome to call me Loras if you like.” Their hands parted with Loras giving his own a subtle shake and his brilliant smile was back. “I don’t know about you but I’m quite starved from sitting here smelling whatever delicious food Sansa has prepared for us this evening.”

“Yes, sir, my mouth’s been watering from the moment my boots hit the back porch but I assure you that’s a regular occurrence here since I’ve never met a finer cook than Sansa.”

Her cheeks blossomed with color at the compliment and for a moment he could almost pretend it was just the two of them here in the parlor. She’d taken her hair down and he’d not seen it like that since his first night when he’d come up to the house but he sure thought about it a lot and wondered how soft it’d feel to touch it. He thought of her asking him inside for coffee that night and how much he'd like spending his evenings here at the house with her by the fire and... 

“Right,” Loras said, clearing his throat and drawing Jon’s focus away from Sansa and his daydreams. “Well, I hope the rest of your people appear soon so we can dig in, my dear.”

_My dear? What in the hell does he mean by that? I mean, they are kin, so to speak, but…_

“I’m sure they’ll all be along shortly except Pod. Jon, if you’d be so good as to lead Loras to the table, I’ll put these in water,” Sansa said, indicating the flowers still in her hands.

Loras looked at the flowers and his lips twitched. “Flowers? I wasn’t sure what you were holding there. I mean, uh…they look as if they’re in need some water…or something.”

_Shit, shit, shit._ His face flamed with embarrassment. He'd wanted to give her something. Mostly, that had been because he liked seeing her smile that way, liked doing something sweet for her. Alright, maybe part of him wanted to show that Loras Tyrell wasn't the only man on this ranch who might be interested in courting her. But a lady like Sansa deserved lovely roses or maybe some exotic hothouse flowers from the Orient and he’d given her some sad little wildflowers from a pasture that had probably barely survived the last snow. Hell, could the millet grass even be called flowers? He was no botanist.

But Sansa cradled the flowers to her chest and gave Loras a stern look when she said, “They are native to these parts and I’m rather partial to them. I assure you they may look delicate but they are quite hardy.” Her eyes found his again and his heart swelled after her defense of his sorry gift and that she’d repeated his description. He hoped she knew that he had considered the description fitting for her as well.

“As you say, my dear,” Loras said, bowing his head to her. _Dear again, huh? Lord, grant me patience._

She left them standing as she went to tend to the flowers so Jon ushered Loras towards the dining room. As Loras passed through the door ahead of him, Jon raised up on his toes for a second. Loras easily had a good three inches in height on him..._damn_. 

Mya had once described Mr. Willas as tall but bookish and needing spectacles with a limp. _“Not exactly the sort to set a girl’s heart to racing,”_ she’d laughed before sobering to add, _“but he was a good man, one of the finest I ever met.”_

Jon hadn’t bothered asking Sansa’s opinion on her husband’s looks, fearing it might bring her pain on top of the fact it wasn’t remotely his business to ask such a thing.

However, what they might’ve felt for one another did occupy his thoughts more than he might like to admit. He was man enough to know that the human heart could love more than one person in a romantic sense over the course of a lifetime. But, that didn’t keep him from secretly wishing that maybe Sansa’s feelings for her late husband had never run so deep that it’d be hard for any man to compete with his memory in her heart.

But a feller like Loras? Jon was quite sure he could set many a female hearts to racing. He just hoped his brother’s widow was immune to his charms.

_Or not…dammit._

“She did not!” Sansa gasped, covering her mouth with her napkin before she started giggling again.

Ordinarily, Sansa’s giggles were one of his favorite sounds in all the world. They still were but his jealousy over who was drawing all of them from her this evening was taking away from his usual pleasure in hearing them.

Loras had been sharing his fiddle faddle throughout supper. Jon shoveled a large bite of Sansa’s delicious apple pie in his mouth to keep from scowling at the dunderhead.

No, he wasn’t really a dunderhead nor were his stories fiddle faddle strictly speaking. And yes, Jon was struggling to remain civil.

Why’d Loras have to be so dang witty though on top of handsome and charming? He’d had to smother his own urge to laugh a time or two…and he didn’t even know any of the folks they were speaking of!

“She certainly did. Margaery walked right up to the impudent fellow and poured her drink over his head in the middle of Mrs. Redwyne’s soiree.”

“Oh, goodness me!”

The rest of the table joined in their laughter, except Jon who was busy stuffing his face as steadily as possible with more pie. Turned out, jealousy wasn’t a very good aperitif but he was champing along determinedly, hating for the delicious food to go to waste even if he wasn’t relishing it like usual. He knew Ghost would be ashamed of him if he let it go begging and he had been mighty sharp set after working out in the cold most of the day.

_Especially after my trip to check the fencing in the winter pasture which took three times as long as it should’ve._

Beth was a sweet girl and he’d felt obliged to agree when she’d begged to ride along with him this morning after breakfast but she wasn’t much of a horsewoman. Neither her nor Dolly got in much of a hurry and he’d feared his balls might freeze off before they made it back to the ranch what with her stopping every hundred yards or so to express her concern that she’d seen a mountain lion or a rattlesnake or thought Dolly might be overburdened by her weight. Her, a mere slip of a girl, too much weight for the mare? It was preposterous.

Licorice had been snorting and pawing at the earth impatiently, wanting out of the wind and to return to his stall, and Jon had about bit a hole in his lip to contain his own aggravation though he’d certainly had no desire to injure the girl’s feelings.

It was too bad Pod had sent word around that it’d be a few days before he could come help again since the two of them, being closer in age, might’ve had more to discuss. _Not to mention her batting her eyelashes at Pod and hinting that she might be more comfortable riding double on the way back might’ve actually got her somewhere with him because it sure as hell wasn’t gonna to tempt me._

Speaking of Beth, she was hanging on Loras’ every word at the moment which didn’t surprise him any. She was still a young girl after all. What he was surprised by was the way both Mya and Rodrik seemed charmed by him whereas earlier it’d seemed they might feel differently. Wex was even smiling.

“Do you think Ghost would enjoy some of this beefsteak, Jon?” Sansa asked as the laughter died down.

His eyes widened at being addressed just after he’d taken another overly large bite of pie. He quickly gulped it down, hoping he wouldn’t get choked and sputter all over his companions, proving to one and all what an uncouth wretch he was.

Fortunately, he was saved from answering right away. “Ghost?” Loras asked.

“Jon’s dog,” Mya told him. “He’s a good herder though part wolf, Jon says. Big white beast with red eyes like the devil but just as sweet as any dog you could ever hope to meet. My boy loves him dearly. I think he’s got a notion in his head that he could ride Ghost like a horse.”

With all the food finally down in his gullet, Jon took a sip of water and nodded to Mya. “I’d say if Ghost would allow anyone to ride him, it’d be Micah as he’s very fond of the boy.”

It was true. It warmed his heart anytime he saw the little nipper and Ghost together and he’d not missed how protective Ghost was of the curious child, always shepherding Micah away from any potential dangers. It made him wonder if Ghost would be like that if he and Sansa ever…_God Above, stop tormenting yourself._

Recalling the original question, he bowed his head towards Sansa. “I know for a fact Ghost will be plum delighted by any leftovers from your table, ma’am.”

“You know it for a fact, do you, sir?” she asked, her eyes sparkling merrily.

“Oh, yes. He told me so. He said no one’s a finer cook than Mrs. Tyrell but he can’t decide if your fried chicken or your beefsteak are his favorites…right after your ham.”

That brought forth more of her giggles and he sure did like being the one to bring them out in her this time.

Loras was soon full of questions about Ghost. Apparently, he was rather fond of dogs himself and mentioned that his brother had bred dogs before horses when he’d lived back east and Loras had been a boy. Jon answered all his questions politely in between bites of his third slice of pie, deciding that despite him being a bit too handsome for his liking and rather fond of his own voice, that maybe this man wasn’t all that bad.

But as they spoke of dogs and horses and other matters, Jon’s eyes most often found their way back to Sansa. And more often than not when they did, her eyes were on him and not Mr. Loras Tyrell.

* * *

  
A few days later, Jon was checking the entire stock for any loose or missing shoes when Wex found him. The boy had been mucking out the barn after finishing doing the same at the stables. He smelled like it. Loras had been helping him at first...until he’d turned green and run off to ‘get some air.’ Jon was still smirking at the memory.

“I thought you was gonna go wash up when you finished.”

Wex shook his head and pointed towards the bunkhouse.

“Well, go on then and wash up. Can't go up to supper later smelling like that.”

Wex shook his head more vehemently and pointed again before he started tugging at Jon’s sleeve like he needed to come with him.

“I ain’t done yet.”

Wex gave him an exasperated look and then pulled out his pencil and a scrap of paper.

Jon stood up straight, took the offered paper and read. “‘Go see Pod.’ Is he here?”

Wex nodded and pointed towards the bunkhouse again.

“Well, why ain’t he down here helping me?”

The same exasperated look and then a gentle push.

“I need to go see him right now, huh?”

Wex nodded and then offered to take the hammer and nippers from him, indicating he could finish for him.

“Alright, I’m going,” he chuckled, affectionately mussing the boy’s hair which earned him a playful scowl.

He headed out of the stables towards the bunkhouse not sure what to make of this mystery but feeling in good spirits overall. Tomorrow would be Thanksgiving and Sansa had said they’d do no laboring aside from the chores that had to be attended to every day. She’d also mentioned her and Beth would be stuffing three hens for the meal. His belly was growling at the mere thought.

As if he’d summoned him with thoughts of roasted hen, Ghost appeared beside him and cocked his head to the side.

“I’ll be sure you get some hen, too. I know Sansa won’t forget you anyway.”

Ghost seemed satisfied by that but stayed by his side as they crossed the yard with a few random snowflakes swirling around them.

An idle day to rest would be welcome after the busy month they’d had preparing the ranch for winter. Once the snows came in earnest, there’d be less day to day chores that’d need doing but they weren't there yet.

What was also welcome was that Loras had gone to visit the new hotel's restaurant last night saying he was curious about it. He’d not made any offers to take anyone with him as far as Jon knew. Maybe he’d make himself some acquaintances there and not spend all his evenings in the parlor with Sansa while Jon sat in the bunkhouse trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered by that which he most certainly was.

As he entered the bunkhouse, he spied Pod sitting on his bunk down at the far end. “Podrick Payne, where you been, boy?” Jon called affably as he headed towards him. “It’s been nearly a week since we seen you here. Sansa was fretting that you’d hopped the train to San Francisco or something.”

Ghost immediately loped over to where he sat and laid his head in his lap. "Hello, Ghost. I'm sorry, Jon. I told Wex not to go troubling you while you were busy. I’ll be down directly to get to work and…”

The boy trailed off as he drew closer and Jon’s good spirits disappeared. Pod’s face looked like a stampede had run across it. Blue and purple bruises just starting to yellow, there was barely an inch of skin unmarred that Jon could see.

He squatted down on this haunches for a better look. “What in tarnation…”

“It’s nothing,” the boy mumbled, attempting to turn away.

Jon gripped his chin to prevent that but quickly let go when Pod winced. Fury filled him as the pieces fell into place in his mind. “Nothing, huh? Nothing, like hell. What happened to you?”

Both his eyes were black. His lip had been split which would be mighty painful any time but especially in such cold weather. It was scabbed but Jon knew how easily it would crack back open in the cold. He wondered when the boy had last slept. He looked dead tired.

Pod stared back at him with pleading eyes. Sad to say, Jon knew the look. He’d worn it himself a few times when he was younger. Pride and fear and shame all mixed together along with a fervent wish for it to just stop. _And the one responsible probably doesn’t feel anything about it at all._

Softening his tone, he asked again. “What happened, Pod?”

“He’s been on a bad tear lately.”

"Your uncle?"

Pod nodded. "He's been keeping me home because he said he needed help. He ain't been sober much the past week."

Sober, his uncle was more than capable of handling things at his little homestead from what Jon had heard. A couple of cows and some hogs. No man who wasn’t a complete lay-about needed his nephew to be there all the time for that when he could be earning money at two paying jobs. But his uncle was also overly fond of his rot-gut liquor from what Rodrik had told Jon in confidence and when he drank, he was a mean drunk.

“And when did this happen?”

“Three nights ago after we realized one of the hogs had got loose and froze to death. He was gonna whip me over it even though I’d swear I closed that pen. I told him I was too big to be whipped.”

“I’d bet good money that you did close that pen but either way you are certainly too big to be whipped. I also had me an uncle like that,” he said sourly. Viserys had been a sniveling worthless ass…and a nightmare to live with when he’d been a boy after his mama's death.

“It was the first time I ever fought back instead of just taking the blow or the whipping. It made him…I never seen him like that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet it did.” Men like that didn’t like it when you stood up to them at last.

Pod was sixteen, almost a man but not quite. His uncle was a man though. Experience lay behind those fists and he’d know where to land them.

“Don’t say nothing to Sansa, please. She’ll only be upset and…”

“She’s going to notice, Pod, and she’ll be upset. Ain’t no stopping that because she cares about you.”

“I was hoping I could stay in the bunkhouse a couple of days when I’m not working and maybe y’all would bring me something to eat.”

“The women will want to know why you ain’t eating with us. Mya would tell ‘em anyway.”

“I don’t want Beth to see me like this,” he said miserably.

_She’s going to but I don’t think she’ll think less of you over it._ He didn’t know what to say to that for certain though so instead he asked about someone else. “Does Brienne know?”

“No, I been avoiding the Smoking Log, too. I wasn’t sure what to do. I don't want to keep staying there but...I wasn't sure...” The boys eyes filled with tears though he was fighting to keep them from falling.

Jon shook his head and pulled Pod to him, knowing that sometimes boys needed to cry even if they didn’t much want to. Men, too. “It’s gonna be alright, Pod. He ain't gonna give you no more trouble. You have my word on that.”

“I was ashamed to come around like this,” he wept.

“Only one who should be ashamed is him.”

He held him gently, mindful of any bruises he couldn’t see and tried to think what the right way to handle this would be without it leading to blood. Not that he’d mind making the man bleed for doing this to Pod but he didn’t want trouble for Sansa or with the law either.

When Pod had stopped crying, he looked him in the eye. “You ain’t going back there no more, alright?”

“But my uncle…”

“I’ll be speaking with your uncle. You’re staying here all the time from now on with us…unless you’d rather not.” He’d give the boy and his pride the choice. Jon hoped he’d make the wise one.

“I’ll stay here. If Sansa will agree.”

“She will. Of that, I have no doubt.”


	9. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa frets over the men going to see Pod's uncle and later has a candid talk with Loras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're expecting Jon to be coming with fire and blood for Pod's uncle this chapter, I'm afraid you may be disappointed but I think this is one of my favorite Sansa chapters I've ever written so I really hope you'll enjoy it anyway :)

It was odd in a way. Rodrik Cassel had been working on this ranch since she’d still been a girl with a head full of daydreams back east but right now there was no question who was in charge between the two men standing in front of her.

His fury had been quiet and contained when he'd brought Pod to her at the house. Still, she could tell how angry he'd been by the way he'd been pacing her parlor as she'd fetched some salve and a bottle of wine she kept for medicinal purposes to treat Pod. She was angry, too. They all were. But there had been a flicker of something in his dark eyes that she would've found very unsettling if it'd been turned towards her which of course it hadn't been. 

_Lord help anyone who ever invokes Jon Snow’s wrath before he has time to cool off, _she thought.

However, Jon was clearly master of his emotions again now that he’d had a little time to reflect and standing there calm as could be in the face of her nervousness. 

“I won’t tolerate you two doing anything illegal.”

“We ain’t gonna do anything illegal.”

“I'll go speak with the sheriff. We could maybe bring charges against Mr. Payne or...”

Rodrik hawked and spat over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but you should know what a waste of breath that’d be with Karstark. And all Payne’s gotta say is he was disciplining his nephew. No one will care except us and Brienne.” He was right. Karstark would be no help at all.

“I don’t want any trouble for either of you.” _I don’t want you getting hurt._ He looked nearly invincible in a way, the epitome of those heroes from her dime novels, standing tall and wearing his black hat, duster coat and six-shooters but she knew all too well that no man was invincible.

Jon stepped closer, drawing her eyes up to his face. It was as if he was pleading with those grey eyes for her to have faith in him. Hers were likely equally pleading, begging him to be careful and act wisely.

He gently placed a hand on her forearm. Even through her coat and his glove, she would swear she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers. “We’re just gonna talk, explain to him that Pod’s not coming back there and fetch any of his belongings.”

“You’re armed. Since when does talking involve guns?”

He shrugged. “It’s only practical to go heeled for this kinda talk, Sansa. We’re hoping it’ll keep Payne sweet. Ghost is coming along to make sure I keep a cool head though, alright?” She managed a wan smile at his jest. “So long as he don’t do anything foolish, I promise we’ll be keeping things civil. Please, don’t fret.”

The backdoor opened no sooner than he said that and Loras came out dressed for riding and carrying a rifle. “You ready?”

“We been ready while you was picking out which hat to wear,” Rodrik huffed under his breath.

“What are…are you going, too?!” she asked.

Loras nodded, saying a man who’d treat a boy that way ought to be horsewhipped. She agreed to some degree but also recalled that Willas had described his younger brother as being a bit hotheaded in the past. Alarmed, she looked to Jon for reassurance and an explanation.

“Loras is coming along but he’ll be hanging back.” Jon emphasized the hanging back part loud enough for all four of them.

“I’m gonna fret,” she murmured as the other two headed towards their mounts.

“I wish you wouldn’t. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

He lifted his free hand and she’d swear he was going to softly brush her cheek again like he had that day in the barn when they’d talked about losing their loved ones. She closed her eyes, anticipating his touch, longing for his comfort once more. It didn’t come this time. She supposed he was thinking of the other two sets of eyes watching when she heard him expel a frustrated sigh.

“Keep Mya and the boys here for me,” he told her before releasing his hold on her arm. She felt chilled by its absence at once.

She walked around the porch to the front of the house and watched the three of them ride out with Ghost following. Loras took off at a gallop before Rodrik yelled something and he slowed his pace. At the gate, Jon turned back to wave to her, leaving her heart thumping madly and her tummy fluttering with butterflies. She watched until they were out of sight before going back inside to wait.

Alone in the kitchen, she listened in a half-hearted manner to Pod and Beth talking at the table in the dining room to distract herself from her worries as she rustled up some biscuits and ham. She'd given him a mug of wine to drink as she'd treated his wounds and Pod had been acting a little dreamy afterwards. He might want some coffee. He probably needed to sleep, too.

She poked her head in to ask about the coffee and was startled to see him and Beth were holding hands as they spoke. Whatever Beth had been telling him, Pod was smiling…or trying to around his split lip. Sansa ducked back out before they could see her, her heart strangely heavy and happy at the same time. 

_Heavy why? You wouldn't mind it in the least if they were sweet on each other and started courting, would you?_

Despite the wistful looks Beth might’ve cast towards Jon and even Loras of late, she had always been friends with Pod. They’d been at the schoolhouse together and, though Pod was a year younger, Sansa couldn’t help thinking their friendship might blossom into something even sweeter one day. Time would have to tell.

_It's only heavy because you want something like that, too. You want...well, you know what you want._

She returned to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and plate his make-shift meal. Poor boy was half starved. She’d already told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted him to come live on the ranch full-time.

She’d need to send Brienne a note about what had happened but she’d keep Wex close to the ranch until the men returned like Jon asked. Mya had been grousing under her breath over being left behind but Sansa had fully agreed with Jon there. Mya had her son to think about and, although she knew Jon didn’t plan on the meeting turning violent, there was that chance.

Finished with her preparations, Sansa set the platter of fresh biscuits and leftover ham down in front of Pod. “Here you go. Eat up but don’t give yourself a belly ache.”

“Thank you, Sansa.”

“I’ll go fetch your coffee.”

“I’ll get it,” Beth offered, rising from the table. “I’ll fetch you the strawberry preserves, too. I know how you like them with Sansa’s biscuits.”

“Thank you, Beth, but…you’ll come back and sit with me some more, right? I mean, if you ain’t busy, I’d enjoy your company.” Even with the bruises, Sansa could tell he was blushing.

Beth’s cheeks flushed in return and she nodded. “I’ll come back quick as I can.”

Sansa smiled to herself and paced over to the window to let Pod start eating. It wasn’t her company he’d requested. 

She looked at the wildflowers Jon had brought a few days ago. They were on their last legs so she picked up the vase once Beth returned and murmured that she'd be in the parlor if they needed her. Drawing out her mother's Bible, she pressed a few of the flowers into the pages of the heavy book, an ache sweet and poignant filling her as she worked. She did indeed know what she wanted but it was frightening to come out and say as much. 

A couple of hours later, she saw three horsemen and Ghost coming back towards the ranch just as Jon had promised. They were talking and she’d swear they were laughing together. She headed outside to greet them.

Ghost reached her first. “Hello, boy,” she said, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears. “I believe Pod might’ve left some ham if you’re hungry.”

He licked his chomps and whined to indicate ham would be very welcome.

Jon spied her first of the men and spurred Licorice ahead to join them.

“You’ve returned in one piece, I see,” she said as he dismounted with ease and climbed the porch steps, every thud of his boots across the wood causing her pulse to jump as he drew nearer.

He reached the top of the steps and gazed at her in that way he had. Lord, it made her short of breath. He removed his hat and nodded. “We have.”

“And Mr. Payne?”

“He won’t be giving no more trouble for Pod and no trouble for us. Ghost can be quite convincing in his arguments.”

“Was he now?”

“Yes, ma’am. If I had a lick of sense, I’d send him to be a lawyer and make my fortune off him.”

She shook her head at him, grinning broadly. “Would you care to come in for some coffee? I think Pod’s finished up eating but I could use a cup. I’m curious to hear about Ghost and his arguments.”

“Nothing would please me more than to sit a spell and have a cup of coffee with you, Sansa.”

* * *

“Did you hear me?” Loras asked from behind the newspaper he'd brought back from town late that evening.

“Hmm?” She’d been nodding off where she sat and his voice startled her. Maybe she’d been dreaming of Jon Snow a little bit, too.

On top of her worries over Pod and then the men going to meet with his uncle earlier, she’d been working all evening in the kitchen with Beth preparing for tomorrow’s feast while Loras sat in here and smoked. And just as she’d sat down to take her own ease, she’d recalled the accounts ledger needed updating and knew if she didn’t take care of it now, it’d wind up keeping her from her rest tonight.

But in her fatigued state, the numbers had started to cross and dance before her eyes after a while and she’d started dozing. She’d wound up having the sweetest dream as she reflected on the best part of her day, the time she’d spent here in the parlor with Jon as they drank their coffee.

He’d been flustered at first trying to balance the delicate coffee cup and saucer on his knee while attempting to get comfortable on the settee. But as they’d sat together, keeping their voices low since poor Pod had laid his head down on the table as soon as his belly had been filled and promptly fell asleep with a blanket placed over his shoulders by Beth, he’d grown more at ease and they’d discussed the events of the day.

_“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you looking after him. I appreciate you handling matters with his uncle, too. I know that I couldn’t have done that.”_

It had stung her pride to know she couldn’t have made a man like Payne listen to her and he wouldn’t have been intimidated by her in the slightest but she’d wished to acknowledge what Jon and the others had accomplished.

Jon had seemed to understand her mixed emotions. _“That wretch is not worthy of your notice so I’m glad that you didn’t have to trouble yourself with seeing him. And, you take care of us all, Sansa. It pleased me to do something for you and for Pod. I want to ease your burdens, not add to them.”_

_Ease my burdens?_ Hadn’t she thought how nice it would be to have someone to share them with just a few days ago? Honestly, it was becoming more and more clear to her who that someone was.

She’d also prefer to have Jon’s company in her parlor in the evenings. Unfortunately, that was not the case tonight.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you, Loras.”

“Oh, I was just mentioning the dance they’re planning to hold in town next week.”

“A dance? I hadn’t heard of it.”

“Yes, Renly’s been meeting with the mayor’s wife and some other ladies to organize it. His hotel doesn’t have the space though so it’ll be at the town hall.”

Including tonight, he’d gone to town for supper twice now. He’d admitted that Mr. Baratheon had been at West Point a year with him and they had remembered each other when they’d met quite by chance the other evening. She’d remarked on the happy coincidence of him coming so far to a place like Silverhill and meeting up with an old friend. His eyes had seemed to shift guiltily at her words and she’d wondered if he’d known Mr. Baratheon was here all along. But why would he need to lie about such a thing?

“It’s been a good while since I’ve attended a dance. None since I came to Colorado in fact.” Willas hadn’t ever offered to take her which she would not blame him considering his limp. And it was not considered fitting for a lady in mourning to go dancing. But now? Well, it wouldn’t be improper really, would it?

“I'll take you.” Her eyes widened in distress. He might've noticed. “We could all go,” he amended. “Should be quite the to-do. Or what would they call it out here? A real hog-killing time or something?” He chuckled to himself, amused.

“Yes, I suppose so.” She wasn’t very interested in colloquialisms though. She was too busy thinking of a dance…and Jon Snow…and dancing…with Jon Snow.

“What are you working on so late?” he asked next, rising from his seat and pacing over to where she’d been working.

“Just some bookkeeping matters.”

“Would you care for some help?”

His tone was friendly but maybe a touch eager. She instinctively tugged the ledger closer to herself. “No, thank you, Loras. It’s trifling matters that would take longer to explain than they’re worth.” _I am reluctant to share how my business is faring with you, too._

“I’m more than glad to help. I want to be useful to you.”

“You are useful. I was appreciative of you going with Jon and Rodrik today. Mya said you were helpful down at the corral yesterday.” _Or at least said you managed to not get in the way too much._

“Margaery always complained that sums gave her headaches and…” He trailed off at her scowl. “Of course, I’m sure you manage just fine and…”

“Yes, I can manage just fine with this on my own as I’ve been doing for quite some time now. I thank you for your offer but Willas was happy to turn over the bookkeeping to me not long after we married and I’m quite set in my ways with my own system.”

“As you wish.” There was a slight tension in the air as he continued standing beside her. It was difficult to define but it was not remotely the same sort of tension she felt when she was alone with Jon or he touched her. Loras slowly took her hand in his, not forcefully but deliberately. His hand was warm but his touch did not move her in the slightest. "I've been meaning to tell you, my dear, that I very much admire..."

"I should finish this," she interrupted as she removed her hand from his, pretending to reach for her ledger. He did not seem to mind. It seemed to make up her mind. As he started to stride back towards the hearth, she spoke again. “Loras? I’m sorry to sound quarrelsome but would you mind just calling me Sansa? Willas called me my dear and it sounds peculiar coming from you.”

His mouth fell open and he started stammering. “Of-of course, Sansa. I-I-I apologize if I caused you any distress…even unknowingly…by striking upon something that might…cause you pain.”

“It’s alright,” she said with a nod, only feeling a twinge of guilt. 

Yes, Willas had occasionally called her ‘my dear’ but it was not the term that bothered her so much as Loras’ familiarity when she had no desire for such things with him. And honestly, she was becoming more convinced that despite Margaery’s letter, Loras had little interest in matrimony, not with her anyway. 

Maybe all Tyrell men were indifferent as lovers or would-be lovers went but, based on his passion for riding, horses, dogs and such, she could easily see Loras being of an ardent temperament when it came to matters of the heart. And yet, he’d displayed no signs of such feelings towards herself. She was exceedingly glad for it. She’d prefer it if they could be friends without him playing the spurned lover at some point when she inevitably refused any advances he might make.

She could wait to see what Loras did and keep wondering about his intentions. It would be more usual for her to do so. But, she was not the girl she'd been when she came to Silverhill and she got tired of waiting for others to make a move when she was capable of making her own. 

"Loras, why have you come out here?"

He blinked rapidly before licking his lips, reminding her of a cornered animal. "I'm here to learn about ranching."

"To learn about ranching, yes. What else?"

"Nothing else." She gave him shrewd look. "Well, perhaps...Granny and my parents had said...I mean, Margaery thought you might be, um..."

"A lonely widow?" The implication behind her words was clear and his face flushed in discomfort as he nodded. "If I am, it is not something I anticipate you being able to resolve for me." She didn't know how to make it plainer without being rude. She could also be insulted by the look of sheer relief on his face if she didn't share his feelings. "We are young and unattached, Loras. Whatever your family’s expectations, you are not bound by them. Forgive me for speaking so candidly but, much as I esteemed your brother, I have no desire to enter into another arranged marriage nor do I wish to engage in any liaisons of a less honorable nature." _Not with you anyway._

"I appreciate your candor, Sansa." 

"And I would appreciate it if you'd refrain from smoking cigars inside my home. I do not care for the smell of them."

"Of course. It is your home, ma'am," he said, bowing his head.

_Yes, it is._

She did not say it. She did not need to. She was rather proud of herself though. Old Mordane would've fainted dead away to hear one of her pupils speaking to a gentleman in this manner. She was a long way from the girl who'd left Miss Mordane's Finishing School for Young Ladies four years ago. 

As their conversation returned to more congenial topics, he smiled at her, his golden brown eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. "May I be so bold as to ask if there is already a more worthy man here who you might feel an inclination towards, madam?"

Heat flooded her face. "You are impertinent, sir." But his grin was infectious and she could not truly be cross with him. He reminded her too much of Margaery with his perspicacity, too. "There may indeed be a man though I've received no clear indication that...never mind," she huffed before turning back to her ledger.

There was most certainly a man who she knew she would never refuse if he should ever make any advances. The question was, would he? _Given our particular situation, it would take a good deal of courage to make the attempt for fear of being rebuffed but it would be too bold by half for me to suggest he try._

"I suspect your feelings would be returned ten-fold if they were known."

"I...nothing has been declared and I'm..."

How could she express herself to Jon without risking too much of her heart? No matter how much a certain degree of independence might agree with her, it was not as if well brought up girls were expected to go chasing after the man. And if he should rebuff her, she would surely be looking for the nearest rock to crawl under and die.

"Sometimes an honorable man, particularly when there are matters of pride and propriety attached to the circumstances, needs a slight nudge to stiffen his resolve, I believe," her company said in a falsely off-handed manner from behind his paper. 

"Stiffen his resolve?" He lowered his paper and winked. She covered her mouth to keep from giggling, deciding she did not mind Loras' company so very much after all. 

How was she to encourage Jon to take a step? How did she stiffen his resolve short of appearing before him in her unmentionables with some silly story of a stubborn button or some such nonsense? No, she could not make a spectacle of herself that way. It was too much against her nature. Nor would she intentionally set out to 'win' Jon's affections with some ploy. That was not her either. 

Deciding it was likely best to let things take shape as they would, she chose to offer an olive branch to Loras after her earlier bluntness. "Would you care to go for a ride and see the rest of the ranch with me tomorrow after our meal, Loras?”

“Oh, yes! I should love to see all of it if you feel up to the ride, my…I mean, Sansa.”

“Very well.”

It was after he'd accepted that the devil whispered in her ear, _And if Jon should see us riding together, will it bother him the way the thought of him and Beth riding together bothered me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone think Jon will be bothered by Sansa and Loras going for a ride together?


	10. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost gets his point across and Jon’s got some feelings about Sansa and Loras going for a ride together.

Jon knew trying to get a man like Payne to give up his liquor and see the error of his ways was as useful as barking at a knot. He’d been full as a tick when they’d come upon him and barely able to sit upright, let alone stand and face them.

Would part of him have enjoyed kicking Payne half to death, drunk or not, as payback for Pod? Oh, hell yes. He’d meant what he’d said to Sansa though. He didn’t want trouble for her nor did he want to draw too much attention to himself around Silverhill.

Besides, if Pod’s uncle kept drinking that cheap whiskey of his at the present rate, he’d likely be headed to the bone orchard before long anyhow.

So, rather than waste time with a wastrel, he’d not minced words.

_“Your nephew’s got a new place to live. He won’t be coming back here so you can do your own work or hire someone to do it for you. Makes no difference to us. We’re here to collect his things though and I highly recommend you keep your ass right there and your trap shut while we get ‘em. You’re not welcome to come around for Sunday supper neither, you hear?”_

He’d had his hands down by his colts and given the man a meaningful look. Of course, Ghost’s paws on his chest while baring his fangs and uttering some right blood-curdling growls had probably been the deciding factor.

Strictly speaking, he’d not done anything illegal and Ghost being a dog couldn’t really be held accountable for disliking a man at first sight, could he?

Loras had laughed until he’d cried over Payne shitting himself when Ghost had leaned forward one last time, close enough to have taken half the man’s face off if he’d wanted before moving off him as they headed on their way. Rodrik had been pleased that the matter had been seen to in such an amiable manner, amiable on their end anyway, and the three of them had rode along together quite companionably on the way back to the ranch.

He’d not liked leaving Sansa fretting but seeing her smiling at him when he’d returned had lit him up inside. And he took a good deal of satisfaction out of the fact that it hadn’t been Loras she’d seemed all that concerned over nor had Loras been invited to take coffee in the parlor with her.

Today however, he was not feeling nearly so pleased.

“Y’all heading to town?” he asked, his stuffed belly churning uncomfortably all of a sudden after he'd met Loras heading to the stables after their Thanksgiving feast and been told him and Sansa were going riding.

He knew Loras was carrying on over that new hotel and his acquaintance there often enough but he didn’t care for the idea of Sansa going to town if he couldn’t go along what with Ramsay Bolton still possibly lurking about. He also plain hated the notion of her going riding anywhere with just Loras.

“No, Sansa’s taking me ‘round the ranch for a little tour." 

_Shit, that's worse than town in a way_. They'd be completely alone. Hell, wasn't going off on a ride together unchaperoned considered serious courting in some circles? _Well, she's a widow, not a girl living with her mama and daddy still but...shit, what do I know?_

"Could you point out her horse to me?”

He ignored the question, too fixated on the thoughts of this ride when not a word had been said about this during the meal. Jon had been heading to the bunkhouse with half a roasted hen for Ghost and plans to kick back and thump his belly the rest of the day. Now he felt sickish. Not from the food though. He was coming to know this sensation very well. He was jealous at the thoughts of her and Tyrell alone together even if there’d been nothing indicating anything romantic was happening between them.

_How the hell would I know if there was? He’s living up at the house. He lays his head down in the room beside hers. They’re in each other’s company at times I can’t possibly be. For all I know, he’s already been reading her poetry while holding her hand by the fire at night._

He didn’t know any poems by heart. And even if he tried to learn some, he couldn’t sit with Sansa in the evenings like Loras could. He felt an overwhelming urge to punch Loras right in the mouth. He needed to get a hold of himself.

“Just the two of you, huh?”

“That’s right,” Loras said with that devilishly pleased grin on his face. Jon started recalling all the reasons he hated the man’s grins. “It'll be a nice way for us to talk over some things." _Talk over some things?! _ "There’s plenty I’ve not seen beyond the corral and stables either. Sansa mentioned there was a picturesque little grove nearer the mountains. Downright romantic, I think she said.”

Jon knew the very place he meant. He swallowed the bile boiling up inside him and battled the inappropriate urge to put his fist through Loras' white teeth.

“I said it was pretty. I most certainly did not use the term romantic.”

Both men whipped their heads around to see Sansa approaching, her voice like a whip and her eyes flashing dangerously as she looked at Loras.

“Forgive me for misremembering,” Loras chuckled.

She ignored him. “Would you be so kind as to saddle Lady for me, Jon?”

Mya had pointed out the thoroughbred mare that Sansa preferred when she rode on his first day but said Sansa didn’t go riding all that often since her husband had passed and she’d been so busy managing everything.

“Uh…that’d be my pleasure, Sansa.”

She smiled sweetly at his response and that smile could bring a man to his knees in a heartbeat. However, it wasn’t just her smile doing that in this instance. He wondered if his eyes were about to fall out of his head at seeing Sansa in a split-legged riding skirt for the first time.

_That’s not all that’d be my pleasure, darling,_ he thought as he fell in behind her when she strode past the pair of them. Not quite so fitted as britches, that riding skirt was still managing to give him some wicked notions. He held his hands out in front of him for a second, picturing how perfectly he could cup her backside when they were…

_Goddamn, stop that right this instant, you lech!_

Banishing his libidinous thoughts (or trying to), he quickened his pace to walk beside her, his chest all achy worrying over this ride. Loras fell behind still chuckling to himself over something. He’d better not be getting his own notions about her in that skirt.

They went their separate ways once they’d entered the stables as Loras headed off to seek out Blue, the spirited gelding he’d rode yesterday, and they walked side by side to Lady’s stall.

“What’re you carrying there?” Sansa asked, pointing towards the cloth in his hand.

“Oh, this is the hen you gave me for Ghost. Reckon I’ll get it to him once you’re all set.” She started snickering and he turned around. “Or I guess he’s come to claim his supper.”

Sure enough, Ghost had silently followed them into the stables. There was no censure in his expression though over Jon failing to deliver his meal right away. He took the proffered hen and disappeared around a corner to enjoy his feast.

“I ain’t never seen you ride before,” he said quietly as he started saddling the mare.

“I’ve not rode in three months, I’d say.” She was patting Lady’s neck and offering her a sugar cube. The mare took it delicately from her hand, a lady for certain like her mistress. "I figured if he wants to know anything about ranching, he ought to see the whole ranch but mostly I missed spending time with my girl here."

"I see." He sucked in a deep breath to work up his courage. “You know, Sansa...if you had the time and inclination, I hope you know you'd always be welcome to ride me." _Wait...what'd I say?_ "I mean, go ride _with_ me!" _Here's good, Lord. Go ahead and strike me dead right now._

He didn't dare look at her for several seconds until he finished fastening the straps. Her cheeks were pinkish and he wondered if they’d been that way from the cold or from his words.

She was worrying at her bottom lip before she said, soft as a kiss, “I’d like to go riding with you sometime.”

Faster than a jack rabbit, he felt light as air again just like yesterday when they'd been nattering away thick as thieves in her parlor. She could do that with no more than a smile or a few words. 

Beth had said something the other day about Sansa wearing a fancy dress and bustle to greet Loras at the train station. He’d like to see her in all her fancy dresses but to be honest, it didn’t matter to him what she wore. And right now, he thought she was nothing short of breathtaking standing in the stables with her fine grey mare, wearing a cream-colored blouse under her coat and vest with her long auburn hair hanging loose around her shoulders and a black Stetson. Fuel for any ranch hand’s daydreams for certain, especially one who’s body and soul was hers for the asking.

Naturally, Loras came along to spoil the moment with Blue all saddled and asking if Sansa was ready. She tugged at her gloves and Jon gave her a leg up into the saddle after leading the horses out of the stables.

“I’ll see you later,” she sighed as Loras took off at a gallop.

“It’s cold out and Blue could stand some working up to a run.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“There’s still some slippery patches from last week’s snow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t fret, Jon.”

“I’m gonna fret,” he muttered as she turned to follow Loras. “I might also vomit between both jealousy and worry eating away at my insides.”

Mya came down from the house holding Micah by the hand as he watched them disappearing from view. “He sure can ride.”

Jon felt like his teeth might crack from the false smile he’d plastered on his face for the sake of the little one. “Yeah, he can but he might be a touch reckless and I hope he recalls he’s riding with a lady and not in the midst of a horse race.”

“Sansa can ride.”

“I know.” _Though I’ve never seen it until today._ He’d never seen Sansa riding until today and she was riding away with another feller. This day had turned to shit awful quick.

“You alright, Jon?” Mya asked, peering at him closely.

Mya was every bit as smart as Sansa in many ways and she noticed things that Old Rodrik and the boys didn’t. He also needed to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve so much. Funny thing was, that was only getting harder for him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just concerned over him taking off so heedless and possibly risking an injury. And I don't know how slick things are along the creek bed where it was so icy two days ago and…” _I don't want them going off alone together and talking about things. _ Mya started smirking so he bit his lip.

“You may have a point there. So, am I going after them or are you?”

“Wha-wha-what do you mean?”

“Can’t have Loras risking a good horse like Blue racing him in these conditions and can’t have Sansa possibly left in his dust on the far side of the ranch neither, right? I reckon one of us ought to ride along.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose on their ride. I wouldn’t want to upset Sansa and I’m not sure what I’d say or…”

“Alright then, I’ll go.”

“No, no! I’ll go!” he quickly amended. “You got Micah with you and I can go!”

He could hear Mya laughing as he ran off lickety-split to saddle Licorice but he didn’t care. He whistled for Ghost and took off in the direction they’d headed, knowing they’d be well ahead by now. He figured where they’d be heading anyway. The picturesque grove Loras had mentioned was full of Blue Spruce and by the creek that ran along the northeastern section of the ranch. Jon had already thought it’d be an ideal spot for bringing a lady one was courting in finer weather for a little picnic…and some privacy.

_You sure got a lot of notions in your head of things that’ll likely not happen._

Shaking off the unpleasant thought, he looked to the skies above as he rode along with Ghost. “More snow tonight, I reckon.”

Ghost tossed his head and then took off after something in the brush, likely a rabbit or squirrel.

“Wasn’t half a hen enough for you?” he chuckled.

“Jon!”

His head snapped up at her call and he saw Sansa was coming towards him from the grove. He urged Licorice to meet her and Lady.

“You alright?” he asked as the stallion and mare were saying their hellos.

“No…I mean, yes. I’m alright but Blue’s not. Loras thinks he might’ve hurt himself when he tried jumping him over the creek bed. He came down hard at a slippery spot.”

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry,” he said just as quickly. He did his best not to cuss in front of a lady, especially not Sansa.

However, his foul language didn’t trouble her in the slightest. “Don’t you say sorry, Jon Snow. If anyone’s gonna be sorry it’s that fool over there! If he’s lamed my horse showing off, I’ll have his hide!” she shouted over her shoulder towards the grove.

Jon had barely ever heard Sansa raise her voice before and he’d never seen this level ferocity in her expression. It surprised him…and maybe set parts of him to tingling. He couldn’t say he was opposed to a little spirit in a woman. In fact, he rather liked it in her.

Soon enough, they joined Loras who was ashamed and regretful at least. Jon checked the gelding and thought it might just be a mild strain and hopefully nothing to worry overly much about.

“I’ll apply a warm wet blanket to the area and rub him down good once we get him back to his stall. I’ll stay the night in the stables with him as well but I think if we keep him from moving around too much or too fast, it’ll heal just fine in a few weeks. We can send word to see if Hullen can come take a look if that suits you, ma’am.”

“Yes, that’d be fine. You know best, Jon…unlike some fools I know,” she said, still giving Loras those dagger eyes of hers.

Jon was very grateful she wasn’t looking at him that way but Lordy, the high color in her cheeks and those flashing bright blue eyes along with her tone were doing things to him, not to mention her with her hands on her hips giving Loras what for in that riding skirt... _God, help this poor lustful soul._

“You can’t ride back to the stables on him, Loras.” _Guess you’ll have to walk._ Jon liked that notion.

Looking suitably chastised, Loras said, “I understand and I’m relieved your initial diagnosis is nothing serious at least. I’m very sorry for injuring this fine animal in my enthusiasm, Sansa. I’ll remember to be more cautious in the future and I’ll gladly help Jon in any way I can in looking after the animal. In fact, if anyone’s going to sit up with him, it should be me.” That was decent of him at least.

"You'll be lucky if I don't make you spend the winter there," Sansa grumbled.

Jon chuckled, not entirely sure if she was joking or not. 

Loras didn't seem too sure either but he asked, “Would you mind me riding double with you on the way back to the house?”

_Hold on now..._ Loras riding double with Sansa? And her in that split-legged riding skirt? He did not like that idea. Not at all.

But thankfully, Sansa wasn't agreeable to that suggestion either. “I’m not sure I want to tax Lady with the extra weight. I’ve not ridden her in some time, you see.”

Jon grimaced before he could help it, not wanting to ride Licorice with Loras. He’d rode double when it was necessary a time or two but two men in one saddle was a bit close for comfort to say the least.

Sansa however had other ideas, ideas he liked a lot better. “Perhaps, I could ride Licorice with Jon and you can ride my sweet Lady…but only if you promise to go at a very sedate pace and lead Blue back keeping his injury in mind!”

“Whatever you say, Sansa,” Loras stammered with his tail firmly tucked in the face of that icy cold directive.

Meanwhile, Jon though he must’ve fallen and hit his head on the way to find them earlier and this was all some kind of dream. Riding back to the stables with Sansa up in front of him in that split-legged skirt? Oh, he’d dearly love to hold her close as they rode.

Or maybe she’d prefer to ride behind him? That way she could wrap her arms around him. Yeah, he liked that just fine, too. Plus, less chance of him embarrassing himself or scandalizing her if his wretched body wouldn’t behave itself.

Sansa was climbing up into the saddle before he knew what was what though and it appeared he’d be riding behind her. _Oh, Lord. Please, behave,_ he thought to himself.

“I guess I’ll see you back at the ranch, Jon. You enjoy your ride,” Loras told him, looking quite amused despite being humbled by Sansa more than once in his presence.

Not knowing what he could properly say, he nodded and climbed up behind her just as Ghost rejoined them. He took one look at the trio of humans and horses and gave an angry bark to voice his disgust over the whole sorry situation.

_Well, it's working out rather well in one respect, boy._

They left Loras behind them and Ghost lingered back with Loras, Lady and poor Blue as if he feared the fool couldn’t find the house and stables again without a good dog to guide him.

That was just as well in Jon’s opinion because he was already sweating at the thoughts of trying to make conversation with Sansa. He would’ve been sadly at sea if forced to talk to anyone else with her softness nestled between his arms as he held the reins.

“I’m very glad you came upon us, Jon.”

“Uh huh.” He'd just breathed in the sweet fragrance of her hair, trying to figure out what she might use to make it smell so good. 

“What were you doing out this way anyhow?”

“I…” He could fib and invent some story but his mama had told him honesty was the best policy. She’d also told him that women had ways of figuring it out when a feller was lying. Maybe not always but he wasn’t going to take a chance with Sansa. “I was worried about you riding.”

“I can ride,” she said a bit huffily and he realized how it had sounded.

“No, I meant going riding with him. I know you can ride or I do now anyway. I saw that with my own two eyes as you were leaving. You got a good seat and…” He licked his lips, fearing he was heading into shoal waters here with talk of the way she sat a horse in that skirt of hers. “You got a lot of poise in the saddle like you was born to ride, Sansa.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” She looked over her shoulder at him with a shy, reticent expression. It took his breath away once again. It was like she wanted to believe his words but was scared to in a way. “Arya was always a better rider than me.”

“Arya?” 

“My sister,” she said sadly. “My daddy always said we were as different as the sun and moon. She was two years younger than me and rode faster and better than I could by the time she was six.”

“A regular Annie Oakley, huh?”

“Yes, she would’ve been."

"I'm sorry, Sansa."

"We fought a good deal as girls..."

"Sisters fight, I'm told."

"Well, we sure did when we were little. Whatever I liked, she seemed to despise. It was only as we were getting older that we started getting along more and I wished we could've..." She trailed off and shivered as if she needed to shake those sad thoughts from her mind. He allowed his arms to embrace her as best they could while he held the reins, wishing he could cradle her against him and whisper some sweet words of comfort in her ear. "She was supposed to come to school with me but talked Daddy out of sending her. She hated the thoughts of being sent to Miss Mordane’s Finishing School and said she'd run away if Mama made her go.”

“I can’t say as I’d been eager to go there either...not that I'd expect they'd accept me.”

She laughed at his sorry joke. “I would've liked her company there but I also understood by then it wasn't her and never would be. She would’ve done well out here though. She’d have worn britches everywhere like Mya and gone riding every day. The West is so wild and full of potential, so much to explore. She would’ve loved it and it would've loved her.”

“I don't doubt you're right about her but I'd say you’ve done well out here, too.”

“I came out here to be a rancher’s wife because my circumstances were desperate. Arya never expressed much interest in being a wife. She would’ve rather scaled mountains or traveled the rivers and…” She stopped speaking and gave him another shy glance over her shoulder. “Look at me, babbling away when you were talking.”

Had he been talking? He couldn’t rightly remember. He couldn’t think of anything except how much he’d like to kiss her and tell her how amazing he thought she was whether she ever climbed a mountain or not.

“I was, uh…I came after y’all because I was worried about him doing something stupid to be honest. I’m sorry if I imposed on anything.”

“You haven’t got any reason to be sorry, Jon. You didn't impose on nothing and I’m very glad you came after us considering he did indeed do something stupid.”

She leaned back into his chest and he wondered if she could feel his heart with the way it was drumming against his ribcage. It was colder than a witch's tit but with Sansa in his arms, it might've turned off summer already. Her hair started tickling his nose. He decided it smelled a bit like rosewater and lemons. He loved it and would like to bury his nose in it all day. He was sorry for Blue but main delighted he’d come after them and thankful to Mya for the nudge to come after them.

They were quiet as Licorice was picking his way along a rocky hillside but, when he gave a little stutter-step, Sansa gasped and he tightened his hold on her. “It’s alright, I got you.”

"I know you do," she said sort of breathily. 

He could feel her relax against him again but he didn’t ease his hold any. She didn’t seem to mind. Her closeness and warmth, the sweet smell of her, it was overwhelming, nearly intoxicating as they continued riding, drawing closer to the ranch. He had the wildest urge to kiss her neck where her hair was pulled back. The skin would be cold probably but his mouth could warm it right up. _My mouth could warm her up all over if she’d give me half a chance._

He subtly shook his head at himself and scooted back a hair on the saddle. Too much thinking along those lines and he’d be poking her backside with more than his belt buckle.

Just as he was wishing the trip would take longer, the ranch house came into sight. Rodrik and Mya came running up when they caught sight of the two of them, curious at what turn of events had brought this about. He’d bet his month’s pay that Rodrik would’ve had a few choice words to say of Loras had Sansa not been present. Mya on the hand let them fly. Jon gave Licorice a nudge to move them out of earshot of her profanity and figured he’d get the stallion seen to before Loras would manage to make it back.

Alone in the stable yard for the moment, he slid off Licorice and turned to help her down. Their eyes met as his hands closed around her waist. That look in her eye, damn he was a lost man when she looked at him like that. He’d seen it a few times now whenever they’d been alone and touched each other in some manner. That spark or whatever it was between them, that wasn’t just in his head, was it? She felt it, too. She felt something when they touched like he did. God, he hoped she did. Jon didn’t think she felt anything like that when Loras Tyrell called her my dear or offered her his arm or told his witty stories. He hoped not with all his heart anyway.

She slowly glided down the side of Licorice with Jon’s hands never leaving her waist. Caught between him and his horse, she was still looking at him with those clear blue eyes and smiled shyly again, tucking a loose tendril of her hair back over her shoulder. He drew a ragged breath, trying to think of something other than kissing her. He was coming up blank. He should probably let go of her waist. He didn’t want to let go of her.

She bit at her plump bottom lip and kept looking at him like she was working up to something. He sure was trying to. Dammit all to hell, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss Sansa Stark Tyrell, his employer, right here in the middle of the stable yard and he didn’t care who saw and only prayed she wouldn’t mind.

But before he could move, before he could lean forward and kiss her like a man seeking his salvation in her lips, her mouth was moving.

“Did you hear me, Jon?”

“Uh…” _Shit_. She’d said something while he was busy plucking up his courage to kiss her. “I’m sorry. I was…”

“It’s alright if you don’t care for dancing. You can just go enjoy the music and company if you want.”

“Dancing?” He tried thinking back over what he might’ve heard. “There’s gonna be a dance?”

“Yes, next week. Loras said his friend Mr. Baratheon and some of the local ladies are putting it on.” 

She grew quiet as he stood there bamboozled. He hated for her to look so uncertain, twisting her hands together. It was just that his own heart was thudding painfully, torn between hoping she was hinting at what he thought she might be and fear that this was somehow her way of telling him she was going with Loras because they were courting. _Where's your backbone? _

“If you'd like to dance, I'd...I could dance with you there. Well, I can sort of dance.” He scowled, fretting he'd look like a clodhopper in front of her if he wasn't careful. "Maybe you'd be so kind as to be my partner for the first reel...if you ain't too afeared for your toes." 

He'd rattled that off so fast he wondered if she'd understood him. He was going to die here and now if she recoiled in displeasure or laughed in his face. She did neither. She nodded, her smile back in place. “I would be glad to dance a reel with you. Loras says there'll be waltzing.”

"I ain't never waltzed before but I could learn if you was willing to teach me." 

"I could do that."

Goddamn, he was going to dance, wasn’t he?_ I_ _sure am._

She was smiling all soft and looking so happy and once again that urge to kiss her was upon him. 

Unfortunately, the next minute she was stepping away and he was forced to let go of her waist as they could hear Mya lighting into Loras who’d made it back with the horses. They were standing in the middle of the stable yard after all and if (more like when) he worked up the nerve to kiss Sansa for the first time maybe he’d rather not have the whole ranch observing them.

He watched her saunter away, her hips swaying in a manner he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon in that skirt.

Ghost had returned from shepherding Loras back for his tongue lashing and came up to him. Jon scratched his dear friend behind the ears. “For the first time in my life, I’m looking forward to a dance, Ghost. Can you believe that? I hope I don’t step on her toes any,” he said with sudden anxiety.

Ghost just ruffed and knocked his head into his thigh.

“Well, thank you for the encouragement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Silverhill to hold a dance next chapter :)


	11. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The residents of the Golden Rose arrive at the dance. Sansa longs for romance but encounters some surprises over the course of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, mynameisnoneya, for the beautiful header!! :)

The steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves slowed and the creaks and groans of the wagon grew less as they drew nearer to town.

“It’s a regular beehive ahead with all them wagons and horses. Every granger, angelica and cowpoke for miles around must’ve come to see the elephant tonight,” Rodrik grumbled to Wex up front before telling the ladies to have a look.

“They’re like stars or sparkling beacons maybe lighting our way to a magical rendezvous,” Beth declared in awe. Strings of lanterns had been lit along both sides of the main street of Silverhill, bringing a warm glow and gaiety to the early December evening.

Despite his crusty ways, Rodrik grinned fondly at his daughter’s delight…until she started chattering about whether Pod or Jacks or Lew might ask her to dance first.

Mya snorted at Beth’s description of the lanterns but Sansa squeezed her hand in agreement, sharing her girlish excitement. It was her first dance in so very long, since she was no more than a girl herself, and she intended to enjoy it. Tonight, she wanted magic every bit as much as Beth did.

_And will I find it swinging in Jon’s arms tonight?_

All week, she’d been looking forward to this. Longer than that maybe in a way. Tonight, she was going to a dance and Jon was going to be her partner for at least one of those dances.

A ripple of sweet longing coursed through her at the thought and she craned her neck to catch sight of Jon and Pod who were only a little ways ahead of the wagon on horseback.

Jon was wearing the best of the shirts she’d given him, a freshly washed dark blue bandana around his neck and the fine dark grey woolen vest which she had made him last week with the excuse that he could use more than one with winter so near.

He’d rode into town to visit the barber yesterday after the morning chores. His beard was neatened up but his hair was only a touch shorter, still plenty of tempting dark curls which she’d like to twist around her fingers. She couldn’t help but think he’d done it specifically with the dance in mind. And, while he might not resemble the fairy-tale princes from her girlhood dreams exactly, he was everything she found desirable in a man these days.

“And who’re you thinking of dancing with tonight, Sansa?” Mya asked with a teasing lilt in her voice.

She’d been caught staring at him, she knew, but only laughed and told her friend to hush.

As if he’d heard them, Jon looked her way. He tipped his hat when their eyes met and smiled softly. _There goes my heart galloping off again._

Loras had rode to town earlier in the day saying he’d volunteered to help his friend Mr. Baratheon and the ladies prepare things. He told them last night at supper that Renly had donated a few cases of champagne for the occasion as well as some other delicacies that were not usual for the mining town. Sansa rarely drank spirits but tonight she thought she might indulge in a glass or two though her head already felt tipsy with anticipation.

She could hear the strains of half a dozen instruments warming up from within as the wagon stopped at last in front of the townhall. Normally a place of property filings and court proceedings, tonight the large room had been cleared of its desks, judge’s bench and pews to host a different sort of engagement.

She stood to carefully make her way towards the back of the wagon, mindful of her dress. The dark green silk gown hadn’t been worn since she’d come to Colorado as she’d had little occasion to wear it. More modest than what she might choose if it were summer, the long-sleeved, fitted bodice buttoned from her neck down until it reached the pleated, ruffled skirts. There was black lace at the collar, wrists and along the front. The bustle was present but not overly exaggerated nor bothersome to her this evening. She looked forward to the swish of her petticoats as she twirled later.

She longed to know what Jon had thought of her in it. Unfortunately, they’d had no chance to speak alone since they’d all gathered to ride out after supper when she’d first appeared in her dress.

Perhaps she would get to find out sooner rather than later though for before Wex or Rodrik could jump down to help her or the others out, Jon was already waiting to assist her.

“Will you permit me, ma’am?”

She nodded and he placed one hand on her waist then grasped her hand with the other. He smelled of soap and leather as well as a hint of the lemon juice she sometimes added to the wash to brighten linens and the men’s shirts, one of Grandma Minisa’s secrets her mother had passed down to her, as he lifted her towards him. The front of her dress brushed against his body. It was like a flurry of sparks unfurling all through her wherever they touched as she slid downward before he gently set her on her feet again. He acted as though she weighed no more than a feather. Feathers seemed an apt description for she felt as fluttery as one when he let go of her.

“It’d be a shame to tear such a pretty dress. It’s beautiful, Sansa.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, you’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”

She couldn’t quite believe her ears at first while his were quickly reddening. He started to drop his eyes, apparently wondering if he should apologize for his admittance. She wished he didn’t look so chagrined over having spoken the words aloud. She didn’t want him to feel any shame for speaking so sweetly.

“Thank you, Jon. I’d hoped you’d like it.” It was an admittance of her own, showing him that his opinion of such things mattered to her.

_And you think I’m beautiful no matter what I wear_. She thought she might cherish those words for all her days.

Next, Jon took Micah from Mya’s arms and the little one squealed with delight at being swung up high in the air. She felt her heart glow watching Jon with the child and felt a bittersweet tug at those secret hopes she usually kept close to her heart.

Naturally, Mya hadn’t waited for his assistance down from the wagon even though she’d chosen to wear a dress this evening. _“Ain’t nothing wrong with a woman wearing what suits her depending upon the occasion,”_ she’d said with a scowl when Wex had been looking near bug-eyed as she walked out of the house with her and Beth. She jumped down in her boots, adjusting the red calico dress as soon as she landed before taking her son back from Jon.

Beth would be next to climb out in her blue and burgundy plaid frock, so pretty with her dark auburn curls, but before Jon could turn to assist her, Pod was there offering a hand, his eyes darting between Rodrik and the girl.

Not wishing to draw unwanted attention to the young pair, she looked to Jon. “Shall we go inside and see what Loras’ friend has prepared for Silverhill’s entertainment, sir?”

“Nothing would please me more, ma’am,” he replied, offering his arm as courtly as any prince or knight of old.

* * *

Old folks and those without partners milled around the edges of the hall, chatting, drinking and taking their ease while the town’s children who’d come along with their elders were darting in between them, laughing, shouting and hunting up mischief. Like much of the West, men still outnumbered the women but that was changing and the disparity wasn’t so great as it once might’ve been.

And, at the center of everything were the dancers. From married couples well into their middle years to mere boys and girls not far out of the schoolhouse, clapping in time and following the dance to the best of their individual abilities in a wide range of fashions from the lowliest miner’s dungarees to the mayor’s wife’s silk and satin and enormous diamond broach, they filled the center of the hall in two rows.

Fiddles, a horn flute, bag pipes and drums filled the air with the Virginia Reel as Tom Sevenstrings called the steps. Sansa grew short of breath as she swung from partner to partner before returning to Jon again. She couldn’t have wiped the smile from her face if she’d tried.

To say the evening began on a high note would be an understatement. However, once the opening dance concluded, she was flushed from the exertion as much as the grin on her partner’s face and Jon asked if she wished to take some refreshment.

“Brienne brought some of her lemonade or there’s cider or even champagne I hear if you want it.”

“Oh, champagne, please,” she said giddily as he escorted her towards the end of the hall where the table of refreshments had been set up. “I’ve not had any in ages.”

“I hope I didn’t step on your toes none,” he murmured as he sipped some cider, foregoing harder spirits for the time being.

The champagne was light and fruity and went down so smoothly. She couldn’t help giggling over the fizzy bubbles while assuring him he’d not stepped on her toes at all. _And, who cares if he missed a step or two? I’d gladly dance every dance with him._

Unfortunately, she would learn that was not to be tonight.

Pod came along to bend their ears about Jacks and Lew and how he didn’t trust them any further than he could throw them.

“Well, whichever one’s dancing with Beth right now seems to be alright,” Jon said who’d never met either of them but knew what was what.

Sansa detected a hint of mischief in his grey eyes but Pod only scowled and muttered something about speaking with Rodrik.

After that, Loras brought his friend Mr. Baratheon over to be introduced. Tall and handsome with black hair and blue eyes, he was dressed every bit as finely as Loras. She couldn’t help but notice that the pair of them seemed to draw nearly every set of female eyes under the age of 50 within the immediate area…except for the ones who were already looking at Jon.

“You must come and visit my hotel for supper some night, Mrs. Tyrell. I would be honored to have you as a guest,” Mr. Baratheon said politely. “Of course, Loras raves over your cooking but a lady shouldn’t have to toil over a hot stove every single night and I would instruct my staff to treat you like a queen if you should grace us with your presence.”

She smiled at his attempts to drum up business for his restaurant, couched in courtesy and compliments of course, but nearly burst out laughing at Jon’s expression of horror. Was that jealousy over Mr. Baratheon’s flowery invitation or fear of missing out on his own supper? Either way, it was amusing.

“I should hope that any lady who comes to dine at The Stag should be treated like a queen, Mr. Baratheon, but perhaps one of these days we’ll all come and dine with you,” she said, earning smiles from all three men.

The two of them were very much at ease together, even finishing each other’s sentences at times, and Sansa thought they must’ve been very firm friends at West Point.

Loras asked if she might care to waltz with him and she couldn’t help but note the way both Jon and Mr. Baratheon seemed annoyed by it. Perhaps Mr. Baratheon had planned on asking her first. She knew Loras only meant to help stiffen Jon’s resolve as he would say but Jon didn’t know of their discussion last week and she didn’t wish of him to misinterpret things.

It didn’t matter how he interpreted Loras asking though for he spoke up quick enough. “I’m afraid Sansa is bespoke for the first waltz, Loras, as she has offered to teach it to me though I fear greatly for her toes.”

The other two men chuckled as Sansa ducked her chin so they would not note how she blushed with pleasure. After that, Renly mentioned fetching another couple of cases of champagne from his hotel and Loras offered to go with him.

Just as she thought they were to be alone again, they had unexpected company. An enormous man with a shaggy red beard and dressed in miner’s dungarees came hurriedly over having spied Jon and nearly crushed him to death in an embrace with a roar. Before she could grow too alarmed, the big man started bellowing with laughter, saying he’d missed his ‘Little Snow.’ Apparently, they were acquainted.

“Dammit, Tormund, you made me spill my cider,” Jon grumbled before returning the hug with equal force and asking what he was doing here. He soon turned back towards her, begging her pardon and making the introduction. “We were on a few drives together down in Texas before Tormund went to chase silver out in Nevada.”

“That’s right!” Mr. Giantsbane said, slapping Jon so heartily on his back Sansa was certain there’d be bruises tomorrow. “Of course, this boy was just the wrangler and still wet behind the ears that first drive but I took him under my wing and showed him a thing or two.”

“Showed me how you could drink too much and fall off your horse maybe.”

“Bah! Slander and lies! I’m telling you I showed him everything worth knowing, miss.”

“And plenty worth forgetting,” Jon said dryly.

“So, who’s this beauty? I seen you dancin’ with her and thought, ‘That can’t be Jon Snow dancin’ with such a fine looking lady' but lo’ it was! Is this your missus? Has my Little Snow gone and got himself hitched?” He waggled his eyebrows and Sansa started giggling, liking the man despite all his bluster. Maybe she liked him assuming she was Jon’s wife, too.

Jon’s ears were red again and he started scratching at his whiskers. “Nah, she’s, uh…I work for her at the Golden Rose but she’s also…”

Whatever else she was, Sansa was doomed not to hear it for Tormund started exclaiming over Jon being a ranch hand here in Silverhill where he was currently working at the mining camp. She was glad that there was someone he knew here, a friend. She was also extremely vexed that she hadn’t got to hear precisely what else she was to Jon.

It felt like they were teetering on the cusp of something all this past week. Since the day she’d rode Licorice with him when she’d worked up the nerve to mention the dance and later wondered if he just might’ve been on the verge of kissing her, she’d thought they were drawing nearer to the tipping point. _Looks like we’re still teetering. I’m getting kind of anxious to fall…but in a good way, I hope._

With an apologetic look her way, Jon steered his friend out of earshot for a few minutes but he was soon by her side again.

“I believe they’re playing a waltz next,” Sansa said in what she hoped was a purely conversational tone.

Jon was not fooled by her tone. He set down his cup of cider, offering his hand. “I can’t wait for my first lesson.” 

Then, he winked at her...or tried to, the rascal. Her lips instinctively twitched into a playful grin in response. This was definitely sparking behavior and she subtly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

However, before she could accept, Mya made a most unwelcome appearance, coming right between them. “Hey, you two seen Wex?”

“No, why?” she asked, attempting not to laugh at Jon's look of utter annoyance.

“Apparently, them Frey boys brought some apple brandy and Wex is hanging around with them.”

“Oh, dear.”

Wex was a good boy most of the time; thoughtful and kind-hearted, mindful of his chores and devoted to those he cared about but he was also fifteen. Those rotten Frey boys were a bad influence and had introduced him to apple brandy, the alcoholic version of the cider Jon was drinking, a few months ago and if he wasn’t careful he’d be acting like a fool in no time.

Sansa sighed, hating to send him away. “Jon, would you mind…”

His annoyed look was gone as he nodded. “I’ll take him outside for a word.”

She watched as he and Wex headed off with another sigh. So much for waltzing with Jon this round.

“I’m sorry, Sansa. The boys both think I’m trying to nag them if I say anything and I figured Rodrik might just give him a lecture whereas Jon’s got a way with them. He’s older but not old enough to be their daddy and they listen to what he says without growing puffed up and resentful.”

“I know, Mya. It’s alright.” Truly, it was. She was very pleased by how readily Jon had become part of their little family at the ranch and particularly enjoyed the way he looked out for Pod and Wex.

“You having a good time otherwise?” 

“Oh, yes. Very good.”

“And did you like dancing earlier?” She blushed and nodded, recalling her pleasure every time they’d meet back up along the line of dancers and Jon would have his hands on her again. She feared Mya might tease her but she only said, “Good. I like seeing you happy.”

Brienne joined them for a spell afterwards. They spoke of general things and winter’s approach but Sansa could tell her friend was not in good spirits this evening. Hoping to help, she mentioned meeting Mr. Baratheon earlier but that only seemed to make matters worse.

“Yes, him,” Brienne said in a tone of resignation. “Well, I should know better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing. He’s a very kind gentleman but I allowed myself to think…well, I should’ve known better.” Brienne finished off her drink without further explanation and bid them goodnight saying she’d had enough of dancing. Sansa hadn’t seen her dance once.

“I hope she’ll be alright.”

“She will be, I think. Sometimes the heart just needs a little time to accept disappointment,” Mya said sagely.

If the opening dance was the height of her evening, the lowest point was on its way. Jon was nowhere to be seen although Wex had returned and was sticking close to Pod now.

Sansa had taken Micah from Mya for a spell so his mama could take a turn on the dance floor when three shadows fell across her where she sat.

“Good evening, Mrs. Tyrell.”

Tingles of unease raced up her spine at the sound of his voice. Ramsay Bolton and two of his friends were standing behind her. “Good evening,” she replied as brusquely as she could without actually spitting in his face.

She turned back around to indicate she did not wish to speak further but Ramsay moved in front of her. “That is a fine looking little shaver in your lap. He’s that Mya’s boy, ain't he?”

She’d been bouncing the baby on her knee in time with the music to his delight. Now, she pulled him close, nestling him against her protectively. She wasn’t sure why Ramsay’s comment felt so much like a threat of some sort. The child, not knowing of any reason for concern, wiggled and wailed his displeasure over the end to his amusement. Her eyes sought Jon but he was still nowhere in sight.

“Yes,” she said in answer to his question.

“She sure is quite a woman.”

Sansa thought so but Ramsay didn’t say it in a tone of admiration. She did not respond and instead tucked her chin over Micah’s head of soft, downy hair, quietly trying to shush him.

“Of course, I’m sure in between laying with ranch hands and baring bastards even she can’t manage to get all of a man’s work done.”

Sansa looked up at him sharply, trying to determine if defending her friend was worth it when it came to this louse. He didn’t allow her the chance to decide.

“I'm sure your ranch could use an able-bodied man around, maybe a couple of 'em." 

Obviously, Ramsay was unaware of Jon working for her which wasn't surprising considering how rarely Jon went to town and that she hadn't gone about discussing it with folks. She liked that in one way. In another way, it troubled her, especially when Ramsay's look reminded her of a fox eyeing a hen house. 

"As it so happens, my friends and I have found ourselves in between situations at present and with winter coming we could do with some work. How about we come out to your place tomorrow and…”

“You and these curs ain’t welcome at the Golden Rose, Ramsay Bolton,” Rodrik said harshly from beside her. “Mr. Willas turned you off the place years ago and you’re not needed.”

Where he’d appeared from Sansa didn’t know but she nearly sighed with relief over Rodrik’s support until she saw the way Ramsay’s pale eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked at the old man.

“I wasn’t aware you ran things around the Golden Rose,” he said, the calmness of his voice strangely sinister sounding. “You’re getting on up in years, Cassel, and ranching's hard work. Your Mr. Willas is buzzard food so I believe it's Mrs. Tyrell’s place now. I’d like to hear her answer.”

Sansa winced at his insensitive comment about Willas and Rodrik was bristling beside her. She also did not want any violence with these men. “I have all the help I need at present, Mr. Bolton, and even if that were not the case, you and your friends are not needed nor wanted at the Golden Rose so my answer is no and it will remain a no. Good evening to you now.”

She had managed to stand her ground, though she was still sitting. She hoped he'd go on after that firm of a refusal. Her heart was pounding fearfully as his eyes shifted back to her again. The smile he gave her frightened her more than anything she could name.

Gratefully, Sheriff Karstark had been standing nearby and came over to speak...or stop Ramsay from going any farther. “Ramsay, I hope you ain’t in here causing a ruckus tonight at our little town's amusement. Your daddy and I were just chatting about you.” He looked meaningfully over to the far end of the room where Roose Bolton stood speaking with the mayor. Ramsay had got those pale eyes of his from his daddy and Sansa felt like shivering all over again.

“No ruckus from me, Sheriff,” Ramsay said smoothly before donning his hat and giving her a nod. “Good night to you, ma’am. Best of luck and I hope your stock winters well so you may thrive in the spring.”

She highly doubted he meant it but at least him and his friends were slipping off and she could breathe again. “Thank you, Rodrik. Thank you, Sheriff, for…”

“I have to hand it to you, Mrs. Tyrell, you've got gumption. I figured you’d sell out after Mr. Tyrell passed. That boy’s daddy made you a fair offer and I don’t know why you’d want to pass it up.”

“Well, I…”

“Anyway, horse breeding can be a cutthroat enterprise out here just like anything else and personally it's not something I believe a woman should involve herself with. I admire your gumption...but I think you’d have done better to’ve sold out and gone back east when you could. Good evening to you both.”

The sheriff walked way leaving her burning with fury. How dare he act as if she was doing something wrong simply by not lying down and letting Roose Bolton buy her out?

And how could the evening turn this miserable after its promising start? All she’d wanted was a night of dancing with the one man she hadn’t laid eyes on in far too long now and to enjoy some time with her friends. Was it so much to ask?

Things weren’t getting any better any time soon either.

“YOU! WHAT IN THE DEVIL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

The music came to a halt and folks all turned to have a look at the exclamation. Sansa thought whatever woman had yelled those words must’ve been yelling at Ramsay but then she realized it was Mya…and she was not yelling at Ramsay.

“Oh, Lord,” Rodrik muttered, having a better view.

“Mychel Redfort, you low-down, dirty sneak! I asked what are you doing here!”

Sansa’s jaw dropped as she stood to see for herself. She quickly hurried forward with Micah in her arms, anxious to be at her friend’s side despite her dismay over the scene that was likely about to unfold. Folks parted before her with knowing looks and she felt her cheeks burning in embarrassment on behalf of little Micah and Mya, not that the child or his mother were aware of the looks. _Not that they deserve to feel any shame over things either._

Attractive and amiable, Mychel Redfort had been a decent hand the six months he’d been at the Golden Rose, well-liked down at the bunkhouse and good with the horses. And he’d apparently been an accomplished lover based on the things Mya had shared. He'd also whispered his share of sweet promises in poor Mya's ears that came to naught when he'd caught gold fever and took off for California not long before Mya had discovered he’d left her with child.

“Mya! What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?! I live in this damn town, you fool, or have you forgotten that?! What are you doing here after the way you took off is what I’d like to know!”

“I just came back last week. I got me a place at Tallhart’s mill and I was planning to come pay you a visit but…”

Mya’s jaw was clenched but there was a hint of tears in her eyes as she caught sight of Sansa. She snatched Micah from her arms as the first tear rolled down her cheek and Sansa’s heart hurt keenly for her.

“You was gonna pay me a visit, huh? Just like all those other visits you liked paying me in the night, right?”

“Mya, I…”

“Well, why don’t we visit right now? And while you’re at it, why don’t you say hello to your son, you no-good son of a bitch?!”

* * *

  
A half hour later, Sansa handed off a sleeping Micah to Beth. Jon was still missing and she was tired of the dance. She just wanted to go home. What had started off so promising had turned into such a mess.

Mya and Mychel had gone outside to talk without the whole town being privy to anymore of their affairs.

The distressing series of emotions she’d experienced since that initial joy was weighing Sansa down and she’d give anything to be in her parlor right now with a cup of coffee and maybe Jon to share it with.

_Assuming he wants to be by my side,_ she thought angrily while feeling sorry for herself. _No telling where he’s run off to all this time. Are all men actually as inconstant as Mychel Redfort? What if he’s headed off to seek some…_

She stopped that line of thought before it could go too far. She knew better. She knew he wasn’t that way. But it rankled that she had no notion of where he was and it hurt that she had no way of knowing if he even missed her half as much as she missed him.

Spotting Loras coming back in from outside, she made her way to him. “Loras, have you seen Jon?”

He jumped like he was shot. “No, I haven’t! I mean, yes, I have! I mean…has he said something to you?”

She didn’t know what to make of his behavior or the worried look in his eyes. “Loras, have you seen him or not?”

“Sansa, I may be an selfish ass but I hope you know it was never my intention to deliberately hurt you in any way.”

She shook her head, perplexed. “You’ve never hurt me at all, Loras. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. I…I think Jon misunderstood something earlier and…I’m not sure how to fix it.” He rubbed his hands over his face before looking at her more closely. “Are you alright?”

“Not really. I’d like to leave and I want to find Jon but, if I can’t find him, I suppose I need to find Mya.”

“I saw her heading off with some man across the way. They were arguing and heading towards the town stables. I didn’t know if I should intrude but it concerned me.”

“I don’t imagine Mya’s in any danger but I’ll go find them.”

She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders as she stepped outside. There were snowflakes falling which seemed perfectly romantic with the lanterns swinging above. If only the night had turned out as romantic as she’d hoped instead of a disappointment ultimately.

Crossing to the stables, she figured Mya and Mychel must’ve gone inside the get out of the wind. She hoped they could talk some things over. Mychel didn’t deserve Mya or Micah but maybe Mya might feel differently. For now, it suited Sansa if he was working for Tallhart since she wouldn’t need any help over the course of winter. Come spring, it could be a different matter but that might be getting the cart before the horse. She would only consider taking him back if Mya wanted him there and Sansa wasn’t sure of that yet.

She started to call out when she happened upon them…not that they saw her. She gasped and stepped back out of the circle of the lantern’s glow above the empty stall full of hay where they appeared to be wrestling. But they weren’t wrestling.

“You ain’t forgiven,” Mya said breathily as their lips parted.

“Goddamn, Mya…I wouldn’t have never took off like I did if I’d known. I’m sorry. I’m…”

“Shut up. Your mouth was always better at things other than talking, Mychel.”

Sansa’s eyes widened as her friend shoved him back into the hay. It was such a forward sort of thing to do. It stirred something within Sansa and she realized with no small amount of surprise how much she’d like to experience that with someone. _Someone in particular_. 

She pressed her hands together not knowing if she should run or alert them to her presence.

_Definitely need to run,_ she decided as Mya lifted her skirts and climbed on top of him. Mychel was fiddling hurriedly with his britches and Sansa knew she needed to go even though a wicked part of her was curious. Hungry, grasping touches with their eyes oblivious to everything except each other, Sansa knew she’d never experienced anything like this in her marriage bed. Willas had never reached for her so urgently and she’d certainly never been so eager for his touch.

“Ah, shit…I’ve missed you so much, Mya,” Mychel whimpered.

“Me, too. If you spend inside me, I’ll fill your balls with lead, you sorry SOB.”

Her face scarlet, Sansa raced from the stables as they both moaned together. She was confused and embarrassed and…jealous. Hot tears filled her eyes. Why was she about to cry? What was wrong with her? Why was she jealous of Mya? What…

“Sansa?”

Fifteen paces away, there he was coming out of the town hall. Dammit, she’d been waiting for him nearly an hour and of course he’d appear now! She angrily dashed at her eyes when he raced towards her.

“Sansa!? What happened? Are you hurt? Rodrik told me about Ramsay showing up. I been frantic looking for you.”

“Not too frantic, I imagine. Where you been all this time?”

“I…I kept getting waylaid by this and that. I wanted to return after I spoke with Wex but…”

“It’s alright,” she huffed knowing it was anything but as she turned away.

He gently turned her back around. “No, it ain’t. I'm sorry. Sansa, you shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s dark and plenty of men have been drinking and…”

“No one’s bothered me out here. If you were so worried about me, you’d have come back sooner and…” She gulped for breath. She didn’t know the whole story of where he’d been plus the tears were threatening again. She’d be better off to hush up.

“I want to keep you safe. It’s why I rushed out here looking for you as soon as I spoke to Rodrik and realized you weren’t with Beth inside.”

She screwed her face up in a mask of indifference, not wanting him to see how much she was hurting over things she could only half explain. She was sure to look like a perfect stoic.

He didn’t look like he bought it. She didn’t buy it either.

He reached out to stroke her face. There was no leather glove between his fingers and her cheek this time. “I wanted to waltz with you, Sansa. You were gonna teach me and I wanted that. We were having a nice time and I…please, don’t be mad at me, darling.”

_Darling_. No man had ever called her darling and that seemed to bring all that teetering to an end.

Her best attempt at stoicism crumbled on the spot and her shoulders started to shake as her chin trembled. She hated with a passion that she was going to start crying in front of him like a stupid little girl. She also breathed a sigh of relief and contentment when he wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m gonna thrash him for hurting you,” he murmured into her hair.

“He didn’t hurt me. He frightened me some but he didn’t touch me.”

“Frightened you? Loras?” he asked, pulling back from the embrace and looking quite confused. _That's going around apparently. _

“No, Ramsay. What are you talking about?”

“Loras and how he imposed on you, how he might’ve led you to believe he was interested in courting when he…well, I don’t know if I should say.”

“Loras ain’t hurt me one bit, Jon. I don’t know what you’re running on about but Loras hasn’t hurt me. I’m not remotely interested in being courted by him anyway.”

“You ain’t?”

“No," she said, shaking her head. There was something she had to know now. "Jon? Why’d you come out here after me?”

“‘Cause I was worried about you like I said.”

“But why were you worried about me?”

His grey eyes searched hers intently. “You know, don’t you?” he said in a low voice, like he was a little scared to say more. She couldn't blame him. She was a little scared as well. She could also be brave. 

“What do I know?” She stepped closer. “You came after me on my ride with Loras the other day ‘cause you were worried you said. You came after me just now ‘cause you were worried about me being alone and unprotected. And then you were worried that Loras had injured my feelings. I just wanna know why you’re so worried about me, Jon Snow.”

“Just ‘cause.” 

Two could play that game she supposed. “‘Cause why?”

Maybe he’d had enough of teetering on that precipice, too, for when his eyes met hers the next instant, there was a fire in them that made her weak in the knees.

“‘Cause this.” Before she could do more than gasp, he yanked his hat off with his right hand and wrapped that arm around her, pulling her up against him again. But this was no embrace intended to comfort her. It was every bit as desperate and full of desire as what she’d been envious of Mya for having earlier.

She placed her hands on his chest to steady herself as he licked his lips. She could see him holding onto a thread of restraint, waiting for permission.

“Sansa, I want…”

“Yes,” she sighed just before his lips crashed into hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind hands* Please, don't hate me for ending it there! I promise we will return to the kiss next chapter. 
> 
> And, thank you all so much for the amazing comments. They are keeping me inspired to keep updating regularly!


	12. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's had a busy night trying to make his way back to Sansa. Later, the Golden Rose has had some unexpected callers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mention of past violence/hate crime.

He hadn’t wanted to be absent from her side for so long. No, not at all. From the moment he’d seen her walking out of the house in her beautiful green dress at dusk and all while he’d spun her around the town hall, soaking up her rapturous smiles like they were sunshine on a winter’s day, until they’d been standing side by side sipping their refreshments, Jon Snow had thought he must’ve landed himself in Paradise somehow without actually dying.

But then, one thing after another had come along to keep them apart and the night had drawn his patience to the breaking point…not that he claimed to be the most patient of men. Who could be patient when a woman like Sansa wanted to dance with you some more?

To be fair, talking with Wex wasn’t irksome or anything although it was what had initially separated them. Wex was a good boy but Jon remembered being his age, having his own curiosity over liquor and his burning desire to feel like a man at the time. Naturally, drinking didn’t make a man a man and acting a fool at the town dance certainly did not.

And though Wex couldn’t say it in words, Jon had long since figured out that pleasing Sansa was at the top of his priorities in life, something Jon wholeheartedly agreed with. All Jon had had to do was remind him how she fretted over them all and wanted what was best for him. That’d been all it had took to have Wex deciding he’d rather not spend his evening in the company of those Frey boys and that he’d probably enjoyed enough apple brandy for the time being.

But before he’d made his way back in, Tormund had found him again. He could hardly high hat the man by cutting him off short. Tormund had been a true friend after all, something Jon Snow didn’t have all that many of.

He’d been more than half scared of the bear of a man when he’d been sixteen and riding as a wrangler, the lowliest position on the train, on the first of Mance’s drives he’d done. But Tormund had indeed taken a young Jon under his wing and, though he was full of bluster and tall tales, he’d been good to him. He’d been a mentor and father figure of sorts, something that had been sadly lacking in Jon’s life, even if some of his stories would scandalize the gentile set.

“Have a nip with me, Little Snow, before you rush back off to your beauty,” Tormund laughed, pulling out his silver flask.

“You still got it, I see.”

“Sure do. I’m still breathing, too.” Tormund’s flask had a significant dent in it that he claimed was from a bullet. “The bandit thought he had me but my trusty flask in my front coat pocket stopped his ball and I strangled the bastard with my bare hands when he came close enough to pick me clean.”

Whether or not the story was true, Jon was glad to see his friend still breathing.

“How long you been in these parts, Jon?”

“Since October. You?”

“Nearly eight months now. The silver’s still flowing for now but I suppose when it dries up I’ll move on again.”

Jon hated to hear that in a way. He’d like to think Tormund might stick around. He also wondered if the mine drying up was something imminent and if that’d be bad news all around for Silverhill. He hoped not.

“You could always work horses like me,” Jon said, taking a swig of the proffered flask for the sake of being civil before passing it back. He had no intention of acting the fool tonight and one sip of Tormund’s powerful homebrew was enough.

“A man my size might break the poor creatures backs when I went to ride them. Speaking of riding fillies though, your lady boss there…”

Jon’s smile shriveled up on the spot at Tormund’s leering wink. “Tormund, we been friends a long time but I swear to God if you say one disrespectful thing about her…”

“Now, I’m just hacking on you. No need to tangle spurs with me, Little Snow. Anyway, I thought as much as soon as I laid eyes on the pair of you.”

“You thought what?” he grumbled.

“That she’s more than just your boss, ain’t she?”

“Even if she was nothing more than my employer, I’d not tolerate you speaking of her that way,” he huffed while wishing his cheeks wouldn’t go betraying him by growing so hot.

“Alright, alright, very gentlemanly of you and you’re right,” Tormund nodded, pious as a preacher now.

He was grinning though and Jon knew he was wasting his time trying to deny things to Tormund. “As for her being more than my employer though…well, I’d sure like for her to be. And maybe that’s not as impossible as I’d once believed either.”

They’d talked a while longer after that but just as Jon had been trying to say his farewells and return to Sansa, Tormund’s face turned cold and he spat on the ground in derision as a man dressed in his best bib and tucker passed them by on his way inside. Jon had only caught a glance of misshapen shoulders and a face so ugly it could back a buzzard off a corpse.

“Even you know that’s not manners, Tormund. Who's that?”

“That's Sheriff Karstark,” Tormund growled. “You know I ain’t never held all that many law dogs in my esteem, barring that one who spoke up for you in Kansas…” Jon flinched, looking over his shoulder in fear that his friend might be overheard. “…but that one there takes the cake for being crooked, a real four-flusher, and plain low down and no good.”

He proceeded to tell Jon more about the sheriff and his favoritism towards his friends, including Ramsay’s daddy, and how he’d sent his men out to harass the miners on more than one occasion even going so far as to demand part of their earnings to ‘overlook’ some of the men’s admittedly shady pasts. It lined up with what Rodrik had told him and, though he wished there’d be a better man to fill his boots for the town in some respects, it made Jon all the more certain he’d rather avoid any entanglements with him personally.

It was after he’d parted from Tormund, who’d taken a sudden interest in visiting the Smoking Log after Brienne had come outside and spoke to Jon briefly before heading on, that Jon had had the biggest surprise of the night.

Loras and Mr. Baratheon had just dropped off a couple of more cases of champagne and mentioned getting one more haul and Jon, figuring that maybe they could use a hand, had decided to follow. He’d turned the corner into the alleyway between the town hall and Mr. Baratheon’s hotel and his jaw had about met the dirt.

_Well, shit._

He was no green boy. He’d worked in close quarters with all sorts of men over the years, enough to have seen and heard a thing or two. He was no hellfire and brimstone Bible thumper either. He didn’t care about the personal proclivities of two grown men if they were both so inclined even if it was outside the bounds of what was considered acceptable in their society.

However, all he could think when he turned the corner to find Loras and his friend locked in an amorous embrace and kissing passionately was how Sansa might feel about this. What if she’d been with him and happened upon them? Would she be shocked? Possibly. Would she be hurt though? That’s what mattered most to Jon.

If Loras had come out here to learn ranching and maybe pursue something else with Mr. Baratheon, that was his affair. But if he had indeed come out here with the intention of marrying his brother’s widow only to be carrying on with someone else, no matter who that person was, and forsaking his vows and leaving Sansa’s bed cold and lonely every night, that was another matter altogether to Jon.

He’d waited until he’d managed to corner Loras alone to confront him which had only allowed his temper to flare in this instance.

_“I don’t care what you do with him but I’ll not tolerate you trifling with her feelings!”_

He may have gotten a bit carried away in his concern over Sansa and Loras had been shaking by the time Jon had let go of him again.

_“I would never hurt her that way, Jon. I knew he was here when I agreed to come but I only allowed myself to fully renew things with Renly after she released me.”_

_“Renew things, huh? And what do you mean released you?”_

_“It’s not me she wants and we both know it. She made it very plain to me last week when I was still fool enough to think I could be something I’m not to please my family.”_

Those words had allowed the earlier hope he’d felt blossom to life once more but he would not know any ease until he was sure she had not been hurt.

Speaking with Rodrik soon after, he’d been alarmed to learn of Ramsay’s appearance and could've kicked himself for not being by her side when she’d been faced with that scoundrel. Rodrik had shrugged off the encounter saying Ramsay would meet his well-deserved end at some point and went on to tell of Micah’s father appearing. Jon had little to say of that. He didn’t know the whole story but already knew he’d be fully on Mya’s side however she chose to handle things.

But when he’d spied Beth sitting with Pod and holding the little one with no Sansa around, he’d grown right woozy with anxiety. Where was she? Was she in any danger? Or had her heart been wounded by Loras despite his words?

That was not the case though and once he’d found her…well, Jon Snow’s night had returned to something akin to Living Paradise.

Holding her in a lover’s embrace, his pulse thrummed in anticipation as all those wretched doubts and insecurities melted away like the snowflake that had just landed on her eyelashes which were still wet from her tears.

“Sansa, I want…”

“Yes.”

He’d paused to give her a chance to say ‘stop’ or to turn away if she wanted. She did neither and her ‘yes’ did away with all his restraint. He closed the distance and kissed her with everything he had.

Her lips were so sweet and soft, all he’d pictured in his lonely bunk at night and more. His heart was thumping away twenty to a dozen as he poured his love and tenderness for this incredible woman into his kiss. If this was just another dream, he didn’t wish to wake.

Fearing his zeal might frighten her, he pulled back a hair. She wasn’t frightened. Low and soft, she hummed against his lips when the kiss ended. They were both chuckling before long, their breath intermingling in the frosty night with the lanterns swaying overhead, a scene worthy of lovers right out of some novel or play, he thought.

“I been wanting to do that for a while now,” he murmured.

“I’ve been wanting you to.”

How his heart swelled at her words.

Her hands slid up his vest and coat and into his hair, winding her fingers through it as her eyes fluttered closed. She tilted her head to the side a touch to invite more kissing. Oh, she could have all the kisses she wanted. If there was any sort of justice in the world, he’d kiss her every day for the rest of his life.

He held her to him, his own fingers exploring the silk of her gown and the soft muslin of her shawl with the warmth of her body underneath filling him with need. His loins tightened up, his desire for her soaring to dizzying heights as his tongue swept across the seam of her mouth begging for entrance.

With a sigh, her lips parted allowing him to deepen the kiss. He groaned into her mouth when his tongue met hers. Like the fine champagne she’d drank with maybe a hint of Brienne’s lemonade for tart sweetness, she was the headiest thing he’d ever tasted. He didn’t ever want anything else but her.

But lovers’ embraces and stolen kisses outside of dances seem destined to be interrupted and a loud whoop and laughter from a trio of bucktooth cowhands had them parting at last though Jon kept his arms around her as she buried her face into the crook of his neck out of modesty.

He shot the fools a lowering look which shut them up right quick but they were followed by other folks leaving the dance and Sansa stepped out of his arms, her cheeks flushing the prettiest pink.

Much as he was loathe to let her go, he understood. He wouldn’t tolerate tongues wagging unkindly about her and what Mrs. Tyrell and her ranch hand did when they were alone was nobody’s business. He would keep their kisses between themselves until he could make her his wife. _Lord, please let her be my wife one of these days._

Soon after, Mya came striding out of the nearby stables, adjusting her skirts with her own cheeks quite pink while saying she reckoned they ought to get home what with the snow and Micah needing his sleep.

A feller, who Jon could only assume was the boy’s father, followed at her heels looking right mournful with his shirt still untucked and his hat in hand.

“Mya, please…when can I call on you? When can I see him again? I want to make things right and…”

“I’ve not decided about all that,” she said with a sniff. “I imagine Mr. Tallhart expects his workers to get an early start so good evening to you, Mychel. You two ready to ride for home or not?”

Sansa gave Redfort a swift glance, touched with pity and ire both, he’d swear, before looking to him. “We’re ready, aren’t we, Jon?”

He nodded and put his hat back on. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll gather the others.”

* * *

  
  
It wasn’t easy riding back with her so close and yet so far and them unable to talk more about those kisses and what they meant and him unable to bare his soul to her like he wanted. Still, he was wearing a smile throughout as he kept Licorice close the wagon. Every time their eyes would meet, he’d feel a jolt like a lightning flash as she chatted with Beth while taking a turn rocking a fussy little one in her arms.

Half-way to home, he heard a rider coming up behind them and told Pod to stick close to the wagon and the women. He’d worn his guns and he’d not forgotten what Rodrik had told him of Ramsay’s words to Sansa.

However, it wasn’t Ramsay chasing them down. It was Loras.

“I was wanting to ride back with you all,” he said, his normal easy smile and confidence not in evidence.

“Suit yourself,” Jon shrugged, his earlier anger all gone.

Loras couldn’t read minds though and there was a strained silence for a time as the horses clopped along behind the wagon. Before long it became apparent what was eating at Loras.

“I know what most folks think of…of what I am. I know how most men react back east and I imagine it’s not any different out here, probably worse.”

Jon couldn’t say he fully agreed with that as a lot of folks in the west were rather progressive in their notions compared to some of the folks he’d met from back east. However, he also knew Loras had a point. Hate and ignorance and violence seemed to crop up anywhere the narrowminded banded together after all.

“Renly and I had a friend at West Point who was discovered with another fellow and it became known. The other cadets, fellows I’d thought were my friends, found out and…they maimed our friend. His family didn’t even care when they learned why it had happened. They disowned him. So, I guess I’m begging you for your discretion for Renly’s sake if not mine and…”

Horrified, Jon pulled Licorice to a halt, allowing the wagon to roll ahead of them. “Loras, I would never do such a thing and I don’t think no less of you for, uh…liking what you like. You have my word that what I saw earlier will never be repeated to a single soul. It will be your and Mr. Baratheon’s choice with whom you share your personal affairs. And I apologize for my behavior when I confronted you. It was only Sansa and her feelings I was thinking of but that is no excuse for my wrath.”

“Thank you, Jon. You are a good man and I cannot blame you for being so protective of her. She’s a fine woman, the very finest, and I know you could make her happy.”

“I hope you are right, sir. That is all I want.”

The snow picked up as they neared home. The moon and stars were veiled but the grey skies and white snow gave its own muted light for them to pick their way along until the covered lantern at the gate post came into view.

Jon wasn’t remotely tired and wondered if Sansa might invite him in for coffee but if she wished to turn in, he would not sulk. There was always tomorrow.

He expected to see Ghost loping out to greet them but no great white dog appeared. A quiver of unease coiled through his guts when he spied another lantern burning down by the stables. That quiver was confirmed soon after when Rodrik let out a shout.

“Stable doors are open!”

Sure enough, the doors to the stables and corral were open. He could see Blue wandering aimlessly by the clothesline. What the hell had happened? And where was Ghost?

Wex, Pod and Loras all raced to the stables to take count as Jon started shouting for his dog. Sansa was by his side looking fearful and Mya was ushering Beth and the Micah into the house to get them inside and out of the cold. She came back out with a shotgun.

“This ain’t no accident,” Mya said angrily.

“Agreed.”

“Who’d do this?” Rodrik asked. “Them Frey boys getting into mischief? Payne seeking some retribution? Or Ramsay and his friends looking to cause serious trouble?”

“It don’t matter right now,” Jon said decidedly. “Right now, we need to make sure we’ve not got anymore unwelcome trespassers still on the place and we need to round up any horses that are missing. It’s bitterly cold and snowing. We can’t leave them until morning.”

“We gotta find Bessie, too,” Pod said, joining them. “The barn door was left opened as well and she’s not in her stall.”

“There’s six horses missing according to my count and Wex agrees,” Loras added as him and the boy came up with Ghost following, limping slightly.

Jon knelt to look him over, his anger and pain at seeing his devoted friend hurt nearly blinding him for a moment. “What the hell happened to you, boy?” he asked the dog as if his friend could answer.

He whined and licked Jon’s face.

“We found him closed up in the smokehouse. I think someone laid a bit of a trap to entice him inside and he may have got hurt trying to get back out.”

After he’d assured himself that Ghost’s injuries were minor, he straightened again to address the group. “Well, there’s six of us so a horse apiece shouldn’t be so hard. Sansa can go inside with Beth and we can pass messages through her.”

“Seven,” she said defiantly and Jon closed his eyes.

“Seven horses?” Loras asked.

“No, there’s seven of us and six horses plus one cow. Beth will stay at the house with Micah and she can pass along messages. I’m coming with you.”

He drew a deep breath and looked at her, not wanting her in any danger, not wanting her out in the snow and wind especially not knowing if there was still hostile men about. But when their eyes met, he knew better than to argue. It was her ranch and her choice.

“Guess you’d better get changed out of that pretty dress then, ma’am.”

* * *

  
In the end, they’d decided to split into two groups. Wex, Rodrik, Pod and Mya had started scouring to the south of the house and Jon, Sansa and Loras had rode north with Ghost following. Despite the dark and the conditions, they were quite successful rounding up their errant stock. They’d meet back at the corral to check progress and get any messages passed along by Beth. They’d agreed to keep the horses in the corral until all were accounted for.

The second to last to be found was Dolly by Pod and he led the gentle mare back to her stall as the others worked to lead the rest back inside for the night, saying they’d look over the entire stock closely in the morning to make sure there were no injuries they’d missed.

Meanwhile, on their end, Sansa had nearly wept with relief when they’d found Lady at last. As luck would have it, the cow had wandered the farthest. Jon had spotted her hoofprints in the snow though just as they’d been tying Lady’s lead to Loras’ saddle. He figured he could manage one docile milking cow.

Standing next to Licorice, he was pulling his bandana up around his ears wishing he had a proper scarf when Sansa came up beside him. “Where do you think she is?”

“Probably not far. Y’all head back with Lady and I’ll be along once I get her.”

“We’ll stay with you,” she argued.

“It’s late and colder than Jack Frost’s, uh…never mind. Ghost is hurt and shouldn’t be out here. Ride back with Loras and Lady and then take care of my friend for me, would you?”

“You’re just trying to get me to go.” He grinned and shook his head. It was only half a lie. He did want Ghost resting just like he wanted her out of the cold and safe in her parlor. “I’ll go with Loras but you promise to come to the house as soon as you’re back with Bessie and let me know you’re safe?”

“I promise.” He darted forward to steal a kiss since Loras was occupied. “I’ll even warm myself by your fire for a spell if you’ll allow.”

“I’ll allow. Ghost and I'll have a pot of coffee waiting for you,” she smiled, biting at her lips. Those were bluer than he liked and her cheeks were already reddened from the cold.

“Go on then. I’ll be along.”

“Alright. Be careful,” she said before stealing a kiss of her own.

Ghost didn’t seem too pleased to be sent off but when Jon told him to go with Sansa, he didn’t refuse.

They rode off with Loras after that and Jon carefully followed Bessie’s tracks another quarter mile to the edge of the creek near the picturesque grove where maybe he really would bring Sansa come spring for a picnic…and some privacy.

The poor cow had managed to get herself tangled in some briars and started mooing pitifully when she saw him.

“How’d you accomplish that, old girl? It don’t matter. I’ll get you free and we’ll get you back to your barn. Young Micah will be wanting his milk with his grits come morning and Sansa said she needed to churn some more butter. I sure could go for some of her cornbread and butter right now,” he added wistfully as he worked to free the cow.

Using some rope from his saddle once she was free, he fashioned a lead and slung it over the cow’s head. Licorice snorted, no doubt annoyed at the prospect of going at the bovine’s pace on the way back.

“It’s just as well. It’s dark and getting plum slippy. I’ll get you a sugar cube for your trouble but you may have to wait until morning.”

He climbed back into the saddle to turn them home but just as he was reaching to secure Bessie’s lead to his pommel, a nightjar shot out from the briars, its eerie churring sound spooking both horse and cow. Bessie stumbled into Licorice causing the stallion to rear and Jon, caught at an awkward angle, was thrown.

The fall seemed to take inordinately long which he supposed was fitting seeing as how high his spirits had climbed this night when Sansa had been in his arms. He had time to note the grey skies above and the snowflakes drifting downward before his head landed heavily against a large stone and the grey night turned to blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My evil/dramatic ass pressing the post button after leaving it like that...
> 
> That being said, I guess our poor ranch hand is going to need some tender loving care now...


	13. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa waits in her parlor with Ghost for Jon to return and begins to fret.

Her toes were no longer throbbing painfully after the feeling had fully returned to them and her hands were warm at last from holding her cup of coffee but she’d been delaying the first sip. She’d hoped to wait until he could join her. And in truth, she had no need of the stimulant. Despite the very late hour, she was fully awake.

There was a nervous quality to her wakefulness, she knew. _Well, who could blame me?_ The night had been an eventful one with parts both good and bad.

She’d rather not reflect too much on the bad at the moment. Whoever had come along and let her animals loose that way, and she had a very strong suspicion of who that was, had not managed to cause any real harm at least. And worrying over it endlessly would only rob her of her rest.

_We all need our rest. And, I don’t intend of us all to be gone at once again. In fact, it would be best if there was a man here at all times._

She hoped Loras wouldn’t mind spending a little less time in town visiting his friend. At least until things seem settled again.

Would it do her any good to speak with Sheriff Karstark? Maybe not but she would all the same. She might ask Jon to go with her if he didn’t mind.

As for tonight, her nervousness as she waited for Jon in her parlor had more to do with what had occurred outside the townhall before they’d returned home. There’d been no moment to speak privately since then other than a stolen kiss or two before they’d parted with him still seeking Bessie. She wanted to hear more about his night and what had kept him away during the dance but, more importantly, she knew they’d likely have to talk about those kisses and what they meant.

_And could we maybe kiss some more?_

Her lips twitched into a grin at the thought. She would not deny wanting that. The heat in his eyes, the powerful feel of his embrace and the hunger of his mouth had left her longing for more…much more.

However, as the large clock in the parlor ticked along counting the passage of time, she couldn’t help recalling that tension from earlier tonight when she’d been wondering where he was during the dance. This felt similar and yet different, more troubling on some level.

_It’s full on dark and bitterly cold. What if some mischance occurred while he was hunting for Bessie or as they were coming back?_

Every sound she heard from outside had her questioning if it was Jon. She heard the call of a nightjar at one point and her scalp started to tingle. Every nerve was strained wanting to hear the measured thud of his boots, the particular cadence of his step, on her back porch. He’d seemed confident that Bessie wouldn’t be far. The cow would be slower than the horses but surely she’d be eager to return to her warm barn.

Ghost had been resting by the fire. It was the first time the dog had been permitted indoors but he’d been sitting there as soberly as any gentleman. But when she began to pace, her coffee long since forgotten, his head popped up from his paws. He sensed her unease and whimpered.

“I’m just fretting needlessly, Ghost…I hope.”

He rose and paced with her. Before long, he was pawing at the door, begging to be let back out. That seemed to be the signal she needed.

Still wishing she was fretting in vain but less and less sure of that, she voiced her worries to Mya who quickly agreed. Both women threw their coats on and Sansa woke Loras while Mya headed down to the bunkhouse to roust the others.

Lanterns were quickly readied. Beth moved into Mya’s bed to lay near the baby as Sansa distributed the pot of coffee amongst the men and Mya to help brace them for returning to the cold night.

With a heavy heart, she led Lady from her stall before six of them mounted up and rode off to where she’d last seen Jon, the prayers silently passing between her lips in a steady stream.

* * *

“I’ll fetch more quilts,” she called over their shoulders as they carried him inside.

Rodrik grunted an acknowledgement before closing the bedroom door in her face. Him and Loras would be undressing Jon before putting him in Willas’ bed. Loras had already said he’d move down to the bunkhouse for the time being. She was appreciative. Jon would need nursing and it’d be easier for her and Beth to see to it with him close.

She hurried to the large chest in her bedroom to fetch the promised quilts before setting them by the door and knocking. Next, she hurried off to do what else she could, busying herself by checking over her medicine kit until Pod could return from town with Dr. Luwin.

The night had been so dark but Ghost had led them, despite his limp, to where he’d been laying. The falling snow had already covered the tracks from earlier. Licorice had been standing by him while Bessie had been placidly grazing a dozen feet away.

When she’d first spied him lying on the ground so lifelessly with a patch of dark blood on the stone beside him, that had been her worst moment of the night. She’d wrung her hands uselessly, terrified she’d lost him and heartbroken at the thought of everything that might never be now.

But as soon as Loras had laid his head on Jon’s chest and whooped that he was alive, she’d immediately cast off her hopelessness, telling herself not to be a ninny. She must be strong for him and all of them.

_“Can we move him, Rodrik?”_ she’d asked.

_“We’ll have to. We’ll hope it don’t cause him no trouble but we can’t leave him here in the cold. He’s already half-froze as it is.”_

He had been frightfully pale and completely insensible as the men had lifted him over Licorice’s back and passed rope around him to keep him secure. He’d obviously taken a bad fall which could happen to even the best riders and was unconscious from it still. There’d been a great lump on his head and dried blood in his hair from what she’d made out in the flickering lantern light.

Ghost whimpered by the bedroom door, drawing her back to the present.

She couldn’t begin to say how glad she was for Ghost and would declare him the best dog who ever lived and quarrel with any who said differently.

_You’ll have all the good things to eat you want,_ she thought in a moment of whimsy. If it wasn’t for Ghost, how long might they have searched?

“Come and warm him, boy,” she heard Loras tell the dog as he opened the door a crack before taking the quilts and shutting it once more.

Sansa stood there envying a dog. She should pinch herself. She just wanted to be near but was respectful of Jon’s modesty, not that she figured he’d feel terribly modest at the moment considering but it wouldn't be fitting for her to barge in.

Mya and Wex were seeing to the horses and cow. Beth had started some oatmeal for hungry bellies. Sansa would help her make some biscuits next and start some broth for her invalid. Sansa checked over her meager kit a third time, knowing nothing here could bring a seriously concussed man back to consciousness. The smelling salts had already been tried to no avail.

She was so tired and wishing she could be in there beside him. That was a wife's place though and she was not his wife. She realized she'd like to be. A moment of disconnected dreaminess came over her in her fatigue as she sat and waited for something worthwhile to do.

She remembered the swell of the music as she’d spun in his arms earlier during the reel, the way his eyes had shone and his fetching smiles. She thought of the way he’d held her when she’d cried her confused and frustrated tears right before they’d kissed. Those kisses, she'd never known anything like them. She'd felt those kisses all the way down to her toes. She imagined holding his hand between the clotheslines on a summer’s day. She could hear childish laughter coming from somewhere just out of sight and his deep chuckling in reply.

“Get us a basin, Sansa. Rodrik says he might retch when he regains consciousness,” Loras told her. She startled and realized she must’ve nodded off.

She hopped up at once to fetch it, twisting the loose strands of her hair back in place. She needed to warm up some water, too. They’d need to wash the wound for the doctor to have a good look. _And wash the blood from his hair._

* * *

An hour later, she was back outside the bedroom pacing while Dr. Luwin examined Jon. She’d been permitted in to wash his wound, her hands working with extraordinary tenderness. His expression had looked mostly serene but he’d winced a time or two when she’d probed the lump. She’d been relieved by those winces. He was reacting to pain and, though she didn’t wish to cause him any, that had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

Ghost had been lying right up against him on top of the quilts he was covered with, his big snout next to Jon’s shoulder. She'd been glad to see his color was better, his lips no longer blue. No one dared suggest the dog be moved, not even the doctor when he’d arrived.

An unusual sound drew her attention and she realized it was the muffled way Wex cried. The poor boy was sobbing where he sat in the floor propped up against the wall with half a biscuit still in his hand. Exhaustion and worry had brought him to a state where he no longer cared if he was seen crying, something he very rigorously avoided ordinarily.

Her heart lurched and she found a space beside him in the floor, plucking the biscuit from his hand and pulling him into her arms so he could have his cry. Her fingers drifted through his tangled brown hair as she recalled washing the blood from Jon’s.

"He’ll be alright," she whispered, wanting to comfort them both. She must be strong for her family this night. She could cry alone later.

The bedroom door opened and Dr. Luwin walked out. “Mrs. Tyrell?”

Wex scrambled to his feet before she could and helped her up. She nervously fussed with her skirts afraid of what he might say. He was a good doctor. He’d also been the one to tell her that Willas was dying.

“Will he be alright? Is he conscious?”

“He is starting to come around, I believe, but still foggy. It is my belief that he will fully recover, ma’am. He took a hard knock but I've seen harder. Swelling of the brain is my worst worry but the skull seems intact and so far all signs are positive.”

She swayed with relief where she stood before remembering herself. “What can I do, doctor?”

“Keep a close watch but mostly he’ll need rest and quiet.”

“I’ll see that he gets it.”

“I know you will, Sansa,” the doctor said with his kindhearted smile. “He’s asked for you.”

“For me?” Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest with joy.

“Yes, ma’am. Well, he's saying your name anyhow. But best prepare yourself for him not making a great deal of sense just yet.”

“Alright.”

She passed Rodrik on his way out of the room who reached out to squeeze her hand. Loras followed him. He embraced her before heading on when Beth started calling them to the table to have a bite. She nodded her thanks to Beth. She would have the opportunity to sit with him alone, it seemed.

Breathing deep, she entered the bedroom with a flutter of unease that had more to do with the past than with Jon.

The room was much as it had been since she’d first come out here with the exception of a few fripperies sitting out from Loras’ trunks. Willas’ pocket watch still sat on the dresser along with the tintype photograph of herself he’d requested when they’d been exchanging letters. The small carved horses he’d had since he was a boy were still sitting out as well, the ones Loras had cried over to see when he’d arrived. On the wall, there was the portrait of his family Willas had brought with him from back east, three generations of Tyrells.

Sansa had never been in this room as a true wife. They’d never spoken sweet words to each other, never helped one another dress or undress, never laughed or cried together in here. Her husband had never brought her to his bed in the night and made love to her. They’d never held each other close on a snowy evening or a rainy morning, sharing their hearts and wishes with one another. He’d performed his husbandly duties in her bed and, while it'd seemed he'd found pleasure in it, she hadn't truly. It had never left her feeling the way Jon's kisses had. And afterwards, Willas had always returned to this room alone.

It seemed cruel to her somehow when she thought on it tonight, how he’d never offered her his heart. Her heart was made for love. It's all she'd wanted as a girl of seventeen with her family gone and alone in the world. She'd been a good wife to him and he'd been kind to her but she'd wanted more from her marriage. Even knowing she was taking a chance marrying a stranger, she'd hoped. In time, she would’ve gladly given him her heart if he’d only been willing to try. Would he ever had done so if he'd lived? Did it matter now? She’d cleaned this room and taken care of Willas when he’d been sick but there’d been no love shared inside these four walls. There’d been no romance between them at all.

She wanted Jon to know that for some reason. Now wasn’t the time, she supposed, but soon maybe she'd share that with him.

It occurred to her then that the last time she’d been in this room in the dead of night, she’d held her husband’s hand as his soul had departed this earth.

And now another man laid in that bed. Except this man was a man she loved with all her heart, one who might very well give her his heart in return, she hoped.

She’d could’ve lost him tonight. She still could. A head injury, Luwin could be wrong and…

“No,” she whispered harshly, choking back her sob. She stumbled the few feet between them, the hot tears coursing down her face. “He says you’re gonna be alright. You won’t die on me. I know you won’t,” she told him as she gingerly perched on the side of the bed. She took his hand in hers, unashamed of how she shook. No one would know but Ghost and him. “Please, Jon…don’t leave me all alone. I don’t wanna be alone anymore. I need you. I need…”

“Sansa? S’lright, darling. Don't cry.”

His voice was low and slurred. It still sounded sweeter to her ears than anything she could name. His grip was weaker than normal but she could feel him trying to squeeze her hand.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she assured him, keeping her voice low and smiling through her tears.

His eyelids twitched and he grimaced, smacking at his lips. His eyes opened slowly. His gaze was a touch unfocused but he smiled back at her. He’d be alright. She was feeling more and more sure of it. She’d watch him night and day. She’d finish boiling that chicken and feed him the good broth. She’d see this man restored to full health. He was a man in his prime and it’d take more than getting thrown and a couple of hours out in the cold to bring him down.

"You were so beautiful in that pretty green dress. I’m sorry we didn’t waltz.”

She shook her head, wanting to laugh with her heart so full of relief. He remembered they were supposed to waltz. He remembered what she'd worn to the dance. “I’ll teach you some other time, I promise. You'll hold me close and we'll turn about the parlor together.”

She'd thought to make him smile again but his expression suddenly grew earnest, beseeching. “I never did it, Sansa.” 

“Jon, don’t worry about…”

“Don’t believe ‘em.”

“Jon?”

“I didn’t start it. I didn’t rob 'em. I didn’t rape nobody,” he murmured before he drifted off once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know everyone's looking forward to the 'tender loving care' to really get going between them *wink wink* (I promise it's coming starting with the next chapter) but I hope this chapter wasn't disappointing. I wanted to show some more of Sansa's feelings towards Jon vs Willas along with her handling her role as the head of the ranch while coping with those feelings. 
> 
> And if you're worried that Jon's mumbled words will do anything to change how she feels about him, you can stop worrying :)


	14. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes to find himself under Sansa's care where they'll spend a few days sharing more of themselves with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @sonderlust45 for the beautiful picset!

[](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vivilove-jonsa#)

In the darkening night, he’d heard a howl. He could see the white of Ghost’s fur and the red of his eyes. But the image shifted in his mind’s eye to become her ivory skin and the auburn of her hair. He heard his darling crying and couldn’t bear it. He thought of her lacy white napkin and the softness of her hand when his had brushed it for the very first time. He still owed her a waltz. He wanted to kiss her again, he’d kiss every one of her tears away.

His eyes opened and he immediately regretted it. The lantern may as well have been the sun at high noon.

“You don’t care for the light much, do you? Can’t say I blame you,” a voice said nearby. It was an older man’s voice, fatherly in a way.

Daring to open his eyes again, he saw the man who’d spoken turning the lantern down low before he laid a stethoscope to his chest. Silverhill was big enough for a couple of sawbones and some assorted snake oil practitioners but there was only one true licensed physician in town.

“You’re Doc Luwin, right?”

“That would be me.”

The grey haired man with kind eyes bid him to be quiet next and listened to his chest as Jon laid there trying to remember what had happened. The dance and her giggling over the champagne, he recalled their kisses, the sweetest part of not only his night but his life thus far, he remembered Loras and the ride home and then the animals being let loose with Bessie in her briar patch. He shuddered, remembering the long fall until all he could feel was the cold.

He was feeling more than the cold now though. His head felt like someone had tried to split it in two with the wrong side of an ax. Nevertheless, he was grateful to be alive. He wiggled his toes under the covers and realized he was only wearing a night shirt.

“How long I been out?” he asked when Luwin put his stethoscope aside, apparently satisfied.

“Most of the night. It's a little past dawn and you’ve had moments of wakefulness before now but this is the most lucid you’ve been. Can you tell me your name?”

A little sprout of worry shot through him but he dismissed it. This was not Kansas and the doctor was not the sheriff. “Jon Snow.”

“Where were you born, Jon Snow?”

“Independence, Missouri.”

“And where are you now?”

“Silverhill, Colorado on the Golden Rose Ranch. At least, I reckon I am. This ain’t my bunk. Where’s Sansa?”

“You are correct and this was Mr. Tyrell’s room once upon a time.” Jon chewed on that before Luwin continued. “Mrs. Tyrell will be back momentarily. She’ll be quite relieved to see you awake, I know.”

Momentarily it was for the door opened less than a minute later and there she stood with a tray in hand. He suddenly wished for more light despite his aching head just to soak her in. Her pretty blue calico dress was one he’d seen her in several times by now but it was one of his favorites. Her hair was loose today with only a section of it pulled back from her face. He loved seeing it down and yet he wondered if it was down because she was too rushed to arrange it like usual. If so, he suspected he was the reason for that. Her lovely blue eyes were red and there were dark circles under them. She looked like she hadn’t slept a wink. He wished he wasn’t the reason for that.

“Ain't you slept at all?” he asked, more gruffly than intended in his concern.

She didn’t bat an eye at his gruffness as she sat down the tray. “No, I can’t say I have. One of my hands went missing on me last night and about got himself killed. It’s kept me busy.”

She said it so drily and the corners of his mouth quirked upward of their own accord. “I’m sorry you hired such a sorry hand to be causing you trouble that way, ma’am.”

The playfulness ended as she carefully brushed his hair back, studying his face. God, how he craved her touch. It was like a balm to his aching head as well as his lonely soul.

He reached for her hand, wanting to keep it on him before they both remembered they had company. She cleared her throat as her cheeks flushed. “Don’t you be sorry, Jon,” she said quietly before turning to fuss with the tray. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I took a bad fall but grateful to’ve been found before I froze to death.”

Her smile in reply to his answer lit him up inside the way it always did as she placed a cool compress against the back of his head. Her movements were gentle, caring. Outside of his mother, he’d never known the kind of tenderness Sansa had shown him in so many ways and here was another example of it. He loved her with all his heart and was itching to tell her so. He just didn’t want her to doubt the veracity of his declaration due to the lump on his head. He would find his moment though. He knew it.

“I hope this might help some.”

He wet his lips and nodded. That was a mistake. _Goddamn, my head._ Her grimace in sympathy to his was pretty damn adorable at least.

“I brought you water as well as some broth.”

“Thank you. I’m parched and hungry, too.”

He wondered how well he could manage the bowl and spoon lying in Mr. Willas’ bed when he felt weak as a kitten with his head still throbbing.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and offered him the water. He loved having her this close. His hands shook a little and she frowned before plucking the cup from him and helping. The doctor explained that fatigue and some weakness from the blow to the head and the cold was likely to blame.

Sansa promptly prepared to feed him the broth as the doctor started putting things back in his medicine bag. Jon’s pride sparked for half a second as she brought the spoon towards his mouth. “I can do it.” Damn, he sounded surly.

He didn’t wish to offend her but he hated appearing so weak in front of her. She was the woman he loved, the one he meant to court and to marry if she’d agree. He didn’t want her having to play nursemaid to him. Especially not knowing she had cared for another man in this bed, one who had been her husband. He wished he could let that go in his mind but it troubled him.

But, just like earlier when he’d spoken gruffly, Sansa was not offended. She was not going to be denied either. “I’m sure you can. I know you will be holding your spoon without help very soon but I think not this morning and I’d appreciate you not quarreling with me when I’m so short on sleep.” Her grin was infectious and that spark of touchy pride was snuffed out. “Besides, I need to see you back on your feet and back at work eventually, sir. Can’t have you slacking off on me all month.”

He grinned at her teasing, not caring that the doctor was still watching them, no doubt amused by his patient’s besotted look. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, I believe you’re in good hands here, Mr. Snow. I’ll check back tomorrow, ma’am.” Luwin pulled out a bottle and set it on the table beside them. “Just a spoonful of the laudanum for pain after that broth and another later when the pain returns. It’s powerful stuff, young man, more powerful than some of my colleagues realize, I believe. It should be used sparingly.”

“Yes, sir, I am aware.” His uncle had preferred bending his elbow for the alcoholic tincture of opium more than whiskey. It’d made dodging his cuffs and blows easier but it had also meant going hungry some nights as Viserys would often spend up what money they had to keep his bottle filled.

“Send Pod or Wex to fetch me if there’s anything alarming between now and then, Sansa.”

“I will. Thank you, doctor.”

Once they were alone, there was a period of silence broken only by the sound of the spoon occasionally brushing against the bowl and him slurping up what she brought to his lips.

But it didn’t feel quiet to Jon.

The air was charged with all those things that maybe they would’ve said to each other last night if not for his accident. And in the quiet, their eyes seemed to communicate quite a bit. She’d worried for him so and he didn’t want her to worry. She would take care of him and he was thankful. He wanted to take care of her, too. They'd kissed last night and neither of them had forgotten it. How soon would it be proper for them to kiss again with him lying in her dead husband's bed? 

“Where’s Ghost?” he asked after the broth was gone.

“He went outside near sunrise when the doctor came back in to check you. He was in here all night with you.”

“And you were, too.” It wasn’t a question.

“As soon as I could be in here, I was. I’ve only left to do what was necessary.” She flushed and bit at her bottom lip. “Speaking of the necessary…did you need to, uh…” Her eyes flicked downward and he caught her meaning. It brought that pressing need he’d been ignoring to the forefront of his mind.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll put this away and give you privacy. Please, be careful sitting up.”

“I will.” She rose to take the tray. Maybe she’d go rest for a bit. He should let her rest, he knew. He’d been fed and he could manage a piss without assistance. She surely had other things to do even if she didn’t go lie down. “Will you come back?” he asked before she could make it to the door, unable to help himself. “After you’ve put those things away and…could you come back and sit with me a spell, Sansa?”

She looked back over her shoulder, a shy, sweet smile playing at her lips now. “I’d be glad to.”

* * *

Three nights later, Jon felt like he was on the mend. The lump on his head was still tender but had caused no further concerns. He had concerns over what had led to it though. 

His instincts said Ramsay was behind the animals being set loose that night but he couldn't prove anything. _There's something to be said for solid proof over hearsay and opinions,_ he admitted to himself. Based on the things Rodrik had said of Bolton, Jon couldn't help wondering if he would've stopped at just loosing a few horses and a cow. Would he have set the trap in the smokehouse for Ghost when he could've just as easily shot him? Jon didn't know for sure. He just didn't like any of it one bit.

Sansa had wound up sending Mya and Rodrik to town to speak with the sheriff. That had got them about as far as Jon had feared it would...not very. 

He'd like to be up and about himself but he’d developed a cough and the doctor had ordered a week of bedrest to be safe after examining him again yesterday.

_“You could’ve froze to death and I’m just glad I’m not snipping off any toes or the tips of your ears. The chest ailment could be a minor thing but better safe than sorry.”_

Ordinarily, he might’ve been tempted to argue. He wasn’t used to lying around like this and no cough had ever kept him from working. But he’d seen the worried way Sansa had been twisting her hands together as the doctor spoke, the way she’d nodded along with everything he’d suggested, and Jon had bit his tongue.

Lying in bed with nothing much to do did grate on his nerves something fierce at times, especially when he’d occasionally hear the others’ voices carried by the wind while they worked the horses and continued preparing the ranch for winter.

Ghost was permitted inside to see him often enough but even a dog as smart as Ghost wasn't much of a conversationalist. Reading might’ve been a good way to pass the time but the doctor had said not to strain his eyes with his head mending.

Everyone else came in to visit him here and there when their chores allowed which he secretly relished. Friends on the trail had been one thing but there’d not been many true ones. However, where once there’d only been his mama, Jon Snow had family who cared about him now, something he’d not expected to have again.

It was amusing in a way when the others stopped in to visit. Their visits were brief and they all assured him that while his company was missed they were managing fine without him. Rodrik’s normally loud voice would be unusually quiet. Mya would keep her teasing to a minimum. Beth had brought little Micah in twice but then shushed the poor boy the instant he made a peep. Wex was the most natural with him barring Sansa and Ghost. They'd play cards until Sansa would say they'd played long enough for fear of Jon straining his eyes...and Wex robbing him blind. Loras' visits were probably the most awkward owing to him fingering the little wooden horse figures on the dresser that had belonged to his brother and growing melancholic. Still, Jon appreciated every one of them for coming. 

But they'd all be glancing over their shoulders the whole time they visited as if they feared the Archangel Raphael was coming down from Heaven any second to make sure no one interfered with him healing. Of course, he knew what that was about. He’d overheard Sansa admonishing them all not to tire him or vex him while he was resting.

_“Rest and quiet is what he needs so don’t go vexing him playing off your humors and don’t be worrying him with work and such,”_ she’d warned them in a voice reminiscent of the Day of Judgment.

Naturally, the best moments of his day, and there were several of them, were the ones spent in her company.

There’d been a little shyness here and there and he supposed they were both not sure how to address those kisses in the intimacy of a bedroom. _And considering whose bedroom it was…_

He didn't like thinking about her lying with Willas in this bed. He honestly didn't like thinking on that at all. _ Still jealous of a ghost, you fool. _

However, that did not keep them from sharing things with each other, some of them things he’d not shared with another soul and maybe the same was true for her. Two months he’d spent getting to know Sansa and in the last two days he’d learned a good deal more of her which only deepened his affection and admiration.

Over the course of their talks, he felt like he was coming to know Eddard and Catelyn Stark and all their children. It made him hurt all the more for Sansa to have lost them, especially in such a cruel and sudden manner. But as they talked, it seemed to bring Sansa a glimmer joy to remember them. And talking about his mama to her, while painful in its way, brought him pleasure, too.

"And what’d she do for work?” Sansa asked tonight while fussing with his quilts before settling on the edge of the bed like usual.

He wiped the last of the cornbread crumbs from his whiskers before laying the plate back on the side table. He was enjoying this talk much more than when they’d discussed his uncle last night and he’d learned of hers by marriage, her aunt’s husband who she’d been forced to live with before marrying a stranger. Jon would not say it to Sansa as she would likely tell him it was terribly unchristian of him to wish for such a thing but he dearly hoped Viserys and Mr. Baelish might be perfectly miserably together in their own fiery little corner of hell for all eternity someday.

“She worked at the boarding house where we lived in Independence when I was growing up, helping the Reeds with the cooking and cleaning and mending clothes for the inhabitants.”

“It must’ve been interesting having a never ending source of new folks to get to know.”

“It could be a never ending source of nuisance at times,” he said wryly. “However, it taught me a thing or two about how to get on with a variety of folks from different places with different ideas about things. I suppose it was an education of sorts unlike the one I had in the schoolhouse.”

“I’ll bet.”

“My mama told me that no matter what they looked like on the outside, everyone was worth getting to know on the inside first before you formed an opinion.”

“A wise woman.”

He smiled, pleased by that. “She was even if she was plagued with raising a little devilish child at times.”

Her giggles were the sweetest thing as she shook her head. “I have a hard time believing that. I’d wager you were an angel when it came to your mama.”

“I tried.”

“And did you have your own room at the Reeds or did you share one with your mother?”

“Oh, we shared. We had the attic which was nicer than it sounds. It was plenty for me and Mama. It was hot as blazes in summer though as I recall and we’d sleep out on the back porch some nights with Jojen and Meera. To us children, it was lots of fun. I imagine it wasn’t all that comfortable to her but she never complained. She’d say we were having an adventure those nights and tell us stories and then get us to tell one of our own until we fell asleep.”

“That’s sweet. It’s beautiful really, Jon.”

_Not nearly so beautiful as you._ He reached for her hand, both of them smiling as they twined them together. This was better than any story.

He hadn’t kissed her since the night of his fall. Maybe tonight that’d change. But at the moment, he had his own questions.

“What’d your mama do? Or your daddy, I guess?”

“My mama was home raising the five of us, helping keep house and occasionally hosting parties and such. My daddy was an attorney and later a judge.”

“A judge?” He swallowed hard and looked away.

Eddard Stark had sounded like a loving man from their earlier talks. He had trouble reconciling the image of Sansa’s beloved daddy with that of a stern-faced judge.

He recalled Slynt, the magistrate, and his condescending looks while he’d sat there listening to Thorne’s accusations with Jon unable to speak up until told he could answer. Even when Jon had had his say, they didn’t seem to care about the truth of the matter. He’d later learned that the two men were thick as thieves.

She drew his hand into her lap which brought his eyes back to her. “That’s right. He was a judge.”

She was studying his face again and he felt a ripple of guilt for hiding things from her. They had done lots of talking the past two days but there was one thing he’d not said yet which he meant to. Unfortunately, there was also something he was less eager to share that was holding him back from that.

“Did he like being a judge?”

“I don’t know if like would be the correct word. I was just a girl but I knew it troubled him sometimes. He took his position very seriously though.”

“I guess sending men off to be hung wouldn’t be easy no matter how much they might deserve it,” he said in a low voice.

“No, but my daddy would’ve said such a thing shouldn’t ever be easy. I do remember him talking about it with my brother Robb once though. He said if condemning a man ever became easy to him it was a sure sign that he was no longer worthy of that authority. And he went on to say how it was important to listen to the accused, to hear his or her words and look them in the eye when deciding their fate, especially in a hanging offense. He said the day he couldn’t look a man in the eye when pronouncing his sentence was the day he needed to quit.”

“A wise man.” She smiled. "And him and your mama were happy...together, I mean?"

"Very happy." 

The Reeds had been happy, too. They were the only example of a happily married couple he could recall from his childhood. He was glad Sansa had grown up in such a home. He wished he could’ve known her parents. He'd like to tell them how much he loved their daughter, how much he wanted to make her his wife someday. 

_She deserves honestly from you. She deserves to know everything...all of it._

He drew a deep breath, searching for the courage to tell her. Maybe he didn’t have to search that hard.

“Jon?" she began with a cautious look. "When you were still not quite yourself the other night…you said something that…concerned me.”

Shit, he felt sick. “What’d I say?”

She told him.

Doing his best to still the flutter of terror he felt, that terror at the thoughts of losing her and her good opinion, he sat up straighter and prepared to make a confession of sorts. Years of running from things hadn’t made them go away nor put them from his mind. Apparently, his subconscious mind continued to cling tenaciously to that haunted fear and guilt he felt over everything that had transpired during that one drive and after.

“You didn’t do nothing wrong,” she said once he’d unburdened himself regarding the Arapahoe braves and the shootout. 

“I did plenty wrong. I shot and killed men I’d worked with for months that day. I killed one of the wranglers, a boy Wex’s age.”

“You tried to stop a senseless slaughter and were caught in the crossfire. The boy was armed and shooting, same as the men, and you were only nineteen. I know you didn’t want to kill no one."

“I failed to stop anything.”

"You tried to. Sometimes, that's the best we get. You made the right choice that day though it was the harder path to follow. My mama once told me that the right choice often is. And though I regret the loss of life and that you had to be part of such violence, I have nothing but respect for your decision." He knew she meant it.

As the story had come out, she’d gone from her spot perched on the side of the bed and moved closer until she was lying on top of the covers but nestled against him, as intimately as a lover though she was still dressed and the quilts separated them. How it had comforted him to know she would want to be so close to him despite hearing of the whole sorry business. And how it stirred him in other ways. _Lord, she don't know how she tempts me being so near. I wished there weren't no more to tell her._

Their hands were clasped between them. "I thank you for your words, Sansa. They mean a lot to me."

“It’s not your fault, Jon, though it angers me that they then accused you of starting it all.”

It angered him, too. They’d reached Dodge City well ahead of him and decided to fabricate their own tale in case he wasn’t dead. Claiming that instead of the trouble brewing over the braves picking off a couple of measly steer and them deciding on a violent course of retribution, they’d said Jon had arranged the theft of the steers with the Indians for his own profit and then opened fire when Thorne and his men had come to confront him.

Slynt had already been wetting his pen to sign the order for execution when Sheriff Mormont had arrived to speak on his behalf, reminding them of the paucity of evidence that Mr. Thorne had presented and presenting the written testimony of Little Raven, the Arapahoe chief who told what the surviving young braves had told him. He’d threatened to telegraph the chief magistrate for the region and bring charges of judicial misconduct and such against Slynt. In the face of that, Slynt had balked and dismissed the charges, citing lack of evidence.

“But why are you afraid you're still wanted in Kansas? And, what about the other part? The accusation of rape?” Sansa asked, looking up at him those big blue eyes as she tentatively started stroking his whiskers.

He closed his eyes, knowing he’d have to tell her the full of it but not wanting her to stop touching him this way. “Sansa, I’m not proud of everything I’ve done. I’ve made some decisions I regret.”

“I can’t imagine anyone with a lick of sense going through life without feeling the same.”

She was so good to him and he hoped she wouldn’t think less of him for this. “I’ve never raped anyone and I never would but I ducked out as soon as my name was cleared fearing retribution later on. I had good reason to fear that, I suppose. Thorne and Slynt were both very angry over having their reputation tarnished.”

“They should both be ashamed is what they should be. Wait. Are you saying...did they put some woman up to bringing charges against you?” she asked angrily.

“I believe that's exactly what they did. She was a saloon girl and there were rumors around Dodge that Slynt had some sway over her boss. I caught wind of the rape charges being brought and I…I never went back to face them. I’m ashamed to admit to you that I was afraid and fled the state. I didn’t know if Mormont would speak up for me again since he’d have no knowledge of the matter and with Slynt in a position of power…”

“I cannot blame you, Jon. But if the charges were completely without basis a good attorney could’ve probably made quick work of getting them dismissed. And when did she even claim this rape occurred if nothing ever happened between you?”

He licked his lips nervously. She of course thought the best of him. “I didn’t have a good attorney. I barely had one at all and…well, I had laid with her before, Sansa…more than once.”

“Oh.” She sat up with her mouth opening and closing a few times before she pressed her lips together in a firm line.

Just as he’d feared, she was offended by it, disgusted by him. Goddammit, he hated this! Hadn't he long feared that his past would come along someday to ruin his future? Could those handful of sordid nights with Ros years ago when he’d been seeking some female companionship after months on the trail ruin his chances with the one woman he loved most in the world?

Fortunately for him, he needed to remember not to underestimate Sansa.

“That must’ve been hurtful to learn she’d said such things,” she said quietly before taking his hand in hers again. 

He gulped for air, the relief of hearing no condemnation in her tone nearly crushing. She was more worried about his feelings in the matter than anything. She didn't need to worry. “I wasn’t hurt by it. I didn’t mean anything to her and I understood the bad position she was in.”

“And did _she_ mean anything to _you_?” she asked, blinking rapidly now.

God, it made his heart hurt to see her on the verge of crying. “No, darling. She didn’t mean anything to me." He tilted her chin so she'd look at him. "She didn't mean anything to me but _you do._ Have I hurt you with my admissions? Can you forgive me?”

“Jon…there’s nothing to forgive. I maintain you did nothing wrong regarding the trouble on the cattle drive and I believe you wholeheartedly when you say you never raped anyone. That’s not you. That could never be you. The being wanted part is troublesome but no one knows of that here. No one needs to.”

"But the other part...”

“I'm not a little girl, Jon. We both lived lives before we met, didn't we?”

“We have but…” He pulled her closer to him, so pleased when she didn't recoil even after knowing everything. He pressed his forehead to hers and felt her body soften against his completely. Their eyes were so close it was nearly hard to focus but he didn’t care. He had to tell her now. He wanted to kiss her again. “Sansa, I’m not sure I’d claim I was living much of a life before we met. Ghost was all I had for so long and I’ve never…seeing that advertisement and coming here to work for you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me but this place is so much more than a job to me. And you're so much more to me than anything I've ever known. There’s never been another woman that I’ve ever felt the same way about as I feel about you.”

She gasped and her eyes widened. He caressed her soft cheek and hoped she would be happy when he said it. One way or another, he had to say it.

“Sansa, I love you. I love nothing so well in all of God’s good earth as I do you and I'll spend all my remaining days doing my best to be worthy of you if you'll allow.

He couldn't help kissing her sweet lips just once chastely before pulling back, anxious for her response.

He'd have to admit her bursting into tears was not the response he’d been expecting.

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was an Arapahoe chief named Little Raven though he wouldn't have been in Kansas when Jon was. I liked the name though.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! I promise the next chapter will pick right up from Jon's love declaration so he can learn why she cried to hear it :)


	15. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to include some 'plot' with the sheriff, etc. but I'm kind of a sucker for Sansa's emotional needs being met so that'll come in her next POV. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Side by side on the bed, he was cradling her to him as she wept, his hand tentatively drifting through her hair. He had no way of knowing that the tenderness he showed her only made her weep anew. It made her feel silly and it was hard to understand why. Perhaps it was owing to the fact she was so used to her pillowcase catching all her tears instead until Jon came along. 

This was not remotely the way she’d expected to react upon hearing Jon tell her he loved her. Sweet Lord, she’d wanted to hear those words from his lips for some time now especially after everything they’d shared with each other tonight. She wanted to say those words to him as well.

But a battered and weary heart feasts on its doubts sometimes, even a heart so young as hers, and she’d cut her teeth on tragedy and nursed so many disappointments since then that it can grow awfully hard to hope. So hard that even when hope is answered, the emotions within can take over in unanticipated ways.

Not being gifted with the ability to read minds or anything, Jon was left dumbfounded and anxious. “Sansa? Darling, are you upset? Well, shit. I can see you’re upset but…”

“No, no, no, I’m not upset, I swear. I’m sorry to cry. I don’t mean to.” She hastily wiped at her eyes. Poor man looked torn in two. She’d wanted to tell him sooner. _Well, tell him now._ “I think you caught me unprepared and…” _How to begin? _ She held up a finger and rose to fetch her mama’s Bible from the bureau. “Let me show you something, please.”

He nodded and waited until she resumed her seat, thumbing through the well-worn pages to First Corinthians.

“I was looking through it the other night, seeking comfort while I waited for you to wake but my eyes were crossing with fatigue so I took to just looking at these instead.” His mouth fell open when she found what she meant to show him. “I pressed them, you see.”

“The snowberries and millet grass I gave you?”

“Uh huh.”

His touch was hesitant as he stroked the edge of one. His expression was vulnerable when he spoke. “But they ain’t nothing special.”

“They are to me.” His eyes were filled with warmth and awe when he glanced back up at her. “Jon, in the quiet, private corners of my heart, I’ll confess I’ve pictured you saying those words to me many times. Never in my imaginings was it half as romantic as you said it just now.”

He soaked that up with his usual gravity but he soon wore an adorably pleased grin. “Then, you’re happy?”

“Yes, you could call these happy tears.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever cried happy tears before but I’m very glad to hear it.” He pulled one of her hands up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles, his whiskers tickling her skin. The gentle intimacy of it had her eyes welling up all over again and he noticed. “Is there something else to those tears, Sansa?”

There was and she'd promised herself she'd tell him. “It’s just that no man has ever said that to me before…not the way you meant it. I guess it struck me like a thunderbolt or something equally powerful.”

His brow furrowed as he took in her words. If he’d surprised her earlier with his admittances, she could tell he was the one who was surprised now. He glanced around the bedroom, his voice low when he spoke again. “But he was your husband.”

He had given her the whole truth earlier. She swallowed down her old hurts and shame to answer him honestly.

“My husband, yes. He married a stranger, same as I did. It was an arranged matter as I’m sure you’ve heard. I was destitute and didn't like living with my aunt and Mr. Baelish. I was hoping for a fresh start away from my painful past. Willas wanted an educated and healthy young lady to keep his house, help with his ranch and bear him sons someday. That was the understanding. We weren’t in love. He was kind to me. Respect and caring grew as we came to know each other but it was never love between us.” Something seemed to shift in him and she couldn’t tell if there was more relief or disbelief in evidence. “I’d hoped in time love might grow but he chose to keep me at a distance. I suppose I wasn’t a girl worth giving his whole self to or perhaps I disappointed him in ways I was not aware when…”

He shook his head fiercely, causing her to trail off as he cupped her cheek. “Don’t you do that. Don’t make it your fault. I won’t hear a word of you not being anything but ideal, Sansa. You hear me?” She nodded as he went on. “I know your sweet nature and I know how the heart pines but I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand any man who could resist falling in love with you.”

“You’ll make me cry again if you keep saying things like that.”

He kissed her brow and wiped the remnants of her earlier tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “I don’t want to make my darling cry. But does it bother you? Me saying these things here in his bed? In this room?”

“I watched him draw his last breath in this room but you’re here and you’re alive. You’ve filled this place with pleasant memories for me in the short time you’ve been in it. I find myself thinking only of you when I enter it now. As for it being his bed, I’ll say to you plainly, I’ve never laid on this bed except earlier when we were talking. Willas never shared this room with me. It was always his.” He scowled and she could see the questions in his eyes that he hated to ask. Feeling a little embarrassed by the subject, even in light of all they’d shared, she lowered her eyes and toyed with a loose thread on the quilt. “When he wanted his wife’s company in the night, he’d pay me a visit in my room.”

“Oh.”

She dared to look up. He looked as bashful as earlier when he’d admitted to laying with the saloon girl. Jon Snow was a grown man but like herself maybe he wasn’t used to speaking openly about sexual relations, at least not in mixed company. _Mya would enjoy being a fly on the wall right now...and telling us all manner of things, no doubt,_ she thought in mild amusement.

“And did he, uh…stay with you...in there on those nights?”

Oh, he would hit a thorny spot. It was as if he knew. “No, not once did he ever stay the night with me." Her face grew hot as she studied the loose thread again. "Not even the first time when I hadn't ever and it was...not what I'd expected." She blinked and felt her chin trembling. He'd told her he was sorry and wished it didn't hurt. It had though and she would've liked to have been comforted that once at least. She didn't want to cry again. She cleared her throat and finished stoically. "He came and took his pleasure and left.”

“But you found no pleasure in it.” It wasn’t a question and she couldn’t deny it. He sounded vexed on her behalf.

“It’s a wife’s duty, isn’t it?” His angry huff suggested he didn’t see it quite that way. And wasn’t that promising? “It was tolerable…” His grimace made her cheeks flame. “…but not what Mya says it should…never mind.”

He took that in and was quiet for a full minute before speaking again. “Sansa, I know that he may have been smart in ways I’m not but I’ll also say he was one of the greatest fools to ever live if he never told you he loved you, if he never made you feel loved, if he never showed you how, um...pleasant it can be. You deserve all that, all the good things there are to be had, darling.”

“Thank you but now you’ve gone and done it again,” she told him as she wiped her eyes but then quickly laughed. He wasn’t distressed by her tears this time. His smile was tender, everything she could wish for. He deserved all the good things, too. She’d shared her old hurt and he’d taken her side. That was enough time spent dwelling on the past. “Jon? I don’t wish to speak of him anymore just now.”

“As you wish, darling. What would you rather speak of?”

“The fact that I love you, too. I do. I love you, Jon Snow.”

For a moment, she wondered if he’d heard her. He was still sitting beside her, giving her that tender smile and holding her hand.

But then the next thing she knew, he was surging forward, his nostrils flared as his dark eyes blazed with that same fiery heat she’d seen in them the night of the dance when he’d kissed her the first time.

She barely managed more than a startled yelp before he was on her, his mouth covering hers with a mounting sort of urgency. She surrendered to that kiss and then returned it, her intensity matching his own. All those flutters she’d feel in her belly when it came to Jon had condensed into a tight little ball of desire. Lips, teeth and tongue were all part of this kiss.

She’d never experienced such passion until Jon and he was in no hurry to stop. He’d break off every so often to draw breath and tell her he loved her. She might murmur it back before they were diving in for more kissing. It was a heady thing being kissed like this, being nearly consumed. She welcomed it.

His hands had gone to her waist at the start but she noticed how they’d been creeping upward. She ached wherever the heat of his hands scorched her flesh through her dress. She wanted to feel that ache _everywhere_.

“Sansa?” Her name was a mere raspy sound, a wanton query.

She nodded and he groaned before cupping one breast through the layers of fabric. She’d not known what to expect beyond a squeeze but when he swiped his thumb just so, it was as if another thunderbolt had struck except this one darted right from her nipple to that ball of desire in her belly making it tighten further and heat up.

“Oh God.” Her breath hitched and she wanted him to do that again. “Jon…” That had been nothing short of begging, an unabashed plea.

“You do tempt me something fierce,” he sighed.

He laid her back on the bed, his weight half covering her as his hand continued its teasing of her breast, making her squirm with pleasure, and the kissing resumed. She loved the feel of his lean, hard body pressed against hers but liked the way he wasn’t pinning her down either. This felt more like something she was a part of rather than something he was doing to her. Would it be that way if they were undressed and making love? She suspected it would.

“You tempt me, too,” she whimpered when he started nuzzling at her neck, leaving her lightheaded as her fingers carded through those curls of his.

She should’ve expected the knock. She’d been in here over an hour now and he came every night around this time.

All the same, they both jumped apart like they’d been caught by her daddy in the hayloft or something at the sound of Mya’s rapping on the door and her calling, “Jon? Sansa? Ghost is here wanting in.”

She could’ve cursed with frustration.

Jon didn’t hesitate to. “Goddammit.”

His breathing was harsh and ragged as she leapt from the bed, trying to straighten her clothes and hair and telling herself not to be cross over the devoted dog coming to pay his nightly visit.

“Thank you, Mya,” she said breathlessly as she opened the door. “Good evening, Ghost.”

Ghost received his required scratch behind the ears before he jumped up on the bed beside Jon who looked less than happy to see his friend at the moment, turning this way and that before settling in the spot he wanted for the night.

“We need to have a talk about your timing, boy,” she heard Jon mutter under his breath though he stroked the great furry head affectionately. “We may also need to revisit our sleeping arrangements very soon.”

Mya’s smirk became more and more pronounced as she noted their mussed hair and no-doubt kiss swollen lips.

“I’ll, uh…take these and let you rest, Jon.” Sansa haphazardly gathered up the night’s tray where he’d had his supper. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Resigned, he nodded and wished her a goodnight. She didn’t like that resigned look and hadn’t she said earlier she wasn’t a little girl? Dammit, she might not be prepared to climb into bed with him tonight but she had no reason to conceal things, did she? They were a family and part of her family might as well be aware of what was what. _It’s not like we can hide much from Mya anyhow._

With the door still open, she swept back to the bed and leaned over him, placing a chaste but loving kiss on his lips, ignoring the delighted gasp behind her. “I love you. Sleep tight.”

He bit at his lip, his cheeks flushed. He was surprised by her boldness maybe but also clearly pleased. “I love you. Sweet dreams, darling.”

She passed by Mya who was grinning like a cat in cream before closing the door behind them.

Beth was sitting by the fire, sketching something in her little journal and completely unaware of what had just happened. “How’s Jon feeling this evening, Sansa?”

“Oh, he’s feeling plum dandy, I reckon,” Mya piped up, barely containing her giddiness. Her friend would be happy for her, she knew. She would also have a hard time being subtle. 

“I’m putting these things away and turning in,” Sansa announced, doing her best to keep from giggling at Mya’s gleeful look. She would not be kissing and telling tonight at least.

“Hope you have sweet dreams…_darling_.” Mya couldn’t resist some teasing.

“Oh, they will be,” she replied with a saucy wink before she went to do as she said, leaving a chuckling Mya and a perplexed Beth in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll take a peek at how Jon feels about the things Sansa told him next chapter and learn about some other things going on in town. And then, Jon's going to take a bath :)


	16. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes the next morning reflecting on his talk with Sansa before venturing out of the bedroom for the first time since his accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Siriusblaack aka @starksnsa, for this beautiful pic set!! I love that you included the pressed flowers :D 
> 
> And thanks to all of you for keeping me so inspired with this story with you lovely comments! I appreciate it so much!!

Jon woke early the next morning to the sound of Ghost snoring by his side with his mind busily turning over so many things.

He’d bared his past to Sansa and she’d accepted it without censure. The anger, fear and remorse he felt over the bloody affair out on the trail, his status as a wanted man and his admittance regarding Ros; she’d listened to it all and her opinion of him had not been diminished by it. Her good opinion meant the world to him.

_But, there’s things that mean even more._

Her love was one of those things. His love for her was returned in full. Her precious heart was his and he intended to take the utmost care of it until his dying day.

She’d pressed the flowers he’d given her. Needless to say, though he’d never thought of himself particularly sentimental, her gesture had touched him deeply, the way she’d appreciated his simple gift. It made him want to give her more, anything she wanted.

His thoughts drifted to another topic of discussion last night, her dead husband.

Jon glanced at the little carved figures of horses on the dresser, mere playthings that Loras had carried on about his brother treasuring ever since he’d been a small boy. Jon had no such artifacts from his childhood stowed away. He’d not lived the sort of life that allowed for it nor did he care. He carried the memories of his mother inside of him. Sharing them with Sansa would keep them from fading too much. That was enough for him.

Willas had loved his horses and dogs and books. He’d cared for the people living on this ranch. Jon could not find fault with any of that. What he could find fault with was how thoroughly he’d failed the good woman by his side in the most essential manner to Jon’s thinking. He had given her a home but he had denied her the love she'd craved. 

Resentment flared in his chest. Beside the carved figures, there was a tintype photograph of Sansa. She was all of sixteen in the picture perhaps but so lovely…and all alone in the world, having nothing but a shrewish aunt and a disgusting lech to care for her until she’d bravely taken her chances and agreed to come all this way to marry an older man, a stranger purely on the assurances of a school friend and a few letters.

_And what did you value more? Your wife or some goddamned toys?_

He’d tell Loras to take those figures with him when he spoke with him next or perhaps he’d just tell Loras to take this room back once Sansa and the doc declared him well again. He did not wish to see the little figures anymore unless it was in the hands of a child. Maybe Micah might enjoy them when he was a mite bigger.

He had not lied when he’d told Sansa he would never understand Willas. He couldn’t begin to fathom being blessed with such a woman as her for a wife and keeping her at a distance, maintaining separate bedrooms and such. Perhaps Willas’ heart had been wounded when he was younger and had never recovered. If that was so, Jon felt sorry for him. Whatever the case though, he was gone and now that he knew the truth of her marriage, Willas’ shadow would no longer plague him.

One man had failed her but he would not if he could help it. He would do his best to give her all the love she deserved. He intended to show her all that loving between a man and a woman could be.

_And I don’t just mean that in a physical sense,_ he thought with a flash of piety before his traitorous hand crept downward beneath the quilts.

Ghost raised his head and ruffed just as Jon stroked his manhood the first time. “Yeah, it figures you’d wake up now. I can’t help being a man and wanting what I want no more than you can help being a dog and wanting what you want, you know. Speaking of which, I guess you’ll want back outside now, huh?”

Ghost hopped down from the bed and stood by the door. Jon opened it and a smile immediately sprung to his face when he heard her voice. She was singing to herself in the kitchen. He hoped that meant she’d rested well. He hoped it meant she was happy most of all.

Throwing on a pair of britches, he figured he could take breakfast at the table by this point. A lazy, hedonistic side of him might relish her coming through the door with his tray in hand to an extent but he didn’t mean to keep confined to bed indefinitely.

He ushered Ghost outside, shivering at the gust of cold wind that greeted him after being indoors the past few days. Ghost didn't mind though. He'd never minded cold conditions with his good thick fur coat. Jon snapped the door shut behind the dog and headed to the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, he realized she was alone at the moment. Beth was probably busy seeing to Bessie and the chickens. Mya might be tending to her boy or still asleep.

Barely able to contain the giddiness welling up within himself, he crept up on her as she was kneading the dough for their biscuits. He covered her eyes and she gasped before one flour-covered hand clasped his.

“Jon! You gave me a fright!” she scolded but the soft laughter that followed was how he’d like to start every day from here on.

“Morning.” He gave her cheek a peck as she tried to hide her grin. She might pretend she was vexed by the surprise but he knew better.

“And just what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

“I promised Ghost I'd behave if he'd let me out.”

She shook her head at him but a giggle escaped. "And you call this behaving, do you?" He just grinned drawing forth another giggle before she turned back to her biscuits. "You hungry?"

"Maybe," he murmured in her ear before wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm hungry for something anyhow."

With a little mewling sound like the ones she'd been making last night before Ghost showed up, she leaned back into his chest. Her head lolled back on his shoulder, exposing her neck as she stretched. Her hands were still sunk in the dough which only enticed him further but hunger for breakfast was nothing compared to the hunger for affection he was feeling. He suspected she felt the same. His lips trailed kisses along her throat while his hand came up to cup a breast. 

"There's...everyone will be..._oh, Jon_..." she moaned, pressing her backside into his groin while arching her back to encourage him to keep fondling her breast. She definitely liked attention to her nipples and he'd be sure not to forget. He lightly sucked on her earlobe and then nipped at it. She whimpered and he was growing hard. He tightened his hold on her waist. "Jon, we've gotta...stop. Everyone will be coming..." 

She was panting and sounded as mournful over it as he felt which made it marginally easier to let go. Yes, she'd kissed him in front of Mya last night but they didn't have to rush to tell everyone either. There could be time for them to fall into this without the whole ranch being aware just yet. 

He shook off his lust as best he could, putting a little space between them. “What’s for breakfast besides those biscuits?” he asked gruffly, knowing his eyes were probably still betraying the fact he'd rather eat her up than anything else. The bulge in his britches probably was, too. 

“Fried ham and eggs.”

“Mmm, sounds filling. I’ll need to work that off somehow.” Her eyes flashed in response._ Oh, lordy me._ “I suppose with a meal like that in my belly I should go down to the barn after and check if…”

The flashing eyes disappeared as she pursed her mouth like a schoolmarm fixing to give him a lecture. He hated to confess that the smidgeon of flour she’d got on her forehead at some point ruined the effect completely. “You’ll be getting back into bed after our meal is what you’ll be doing.”

“I’m fine, Sansa.” Naturally, his blasted coughing started up no sooner than he said it to betray him. “I’ll…be…fine,” he hacked before doubling over. “Shit.”

A mucky sweat broke out as he kept coughing and he could feel Sansa’s arms around him, guiding him to the parlor. “You sit right here until breakfast is done. I’ll fetch you one of those cough drops.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated stubbornly when she returned holding one out in front of him.

She stuffed the lozenge between his lips with a fearsome look. “Don’t you argue, Jon. I told myself I’d see you better and I’m gonna.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled.

As the lozenge eased the coughing, he realized she’d put him in her preferred chair by the fire. He wasn’t sure why that pleased him so but it did.

However, the heat from being so close to the fire made him aware of that mucky sweat and the fact that he’d grown a bit ripe from lying in bed the past three days. _I need to bathe…badly._ Sponging off with a basin and rag was one thing but he hadn’t had a proper wash since before the dance.

Pod and Beth came in from the back porch together a few minutes later. Beth had her basket of eggs but Pod was carrying the pail of milk from Bessie for her. Milking the cow and fetching eggs was one of Beth’s chore. Sansa would do it when she couldn’t but he’d never seen Pod helping. Jon bit at his lip to keep from drawing attention to it, knowing Pod had likely risen earlier than was his wont in order to join Beth down at the barn. He couldn't say nothing. He'd stay up all night or rise an hour before the rooster if it meant spending more time with Sansa. 

“Jon! It’s good to see you up and about. I been praying for you to feel better and was so glad when Mya said you was feeling dandy last night,” Beth said sweetly as she removed her bonnet.

"Thank you, Beth. I'm doing fairly well this morning though my cough crops up at the worst times."

She nodded in sympathy. “Will you carry the milk to Sansa for me, Pod? Tell her I'll be in to help as soon as I fetch a clean apron. Oh and hurry back and tell Jon what you learned in town last night!”

Pod hurried off to do her bidding with less argument than Jon had given Sansa over sitting down. He soon returned to tell of a shoot out in town and other gossip that he'd heard of while he was working at the Smoking Log last night.

“A shoot out, huh?” Silverhill had its share of bad apples, he knew. _And Ramsay Bolton might be the most rotten of them. _

"Yeah, after Ramsay left the dance the other night, he turned up at the Peach." 

Pod's eyes flickered to Beth whose lips were suddenly pursed the way Sansa's had been earlier but not in a playful way. "Where might you've heard about that, Podrick Payne?"

"A friend," he answered meekly. "Anyway, he was playing cards with that Hornwood fella. They were playing to see who would pay the other's fee for a, um...some entertainment. They got into an argument. Ramsay shot and killed him."

"Sounds like very nasty business in a perfectly disreputable place to me," Beth sniffed primly. 

Jon was focused on what mattered more to him though. "They gonna hang him?"

"I don't think so. One of Karstark's deputies was there but the sheriff's is already labeling it as self-defense and says the arrest is just protocol. There were witnesses that said Hornwood drew first."

"What witnesses, I wonder. But, I guess he wasn't out here loosing the animals that night if he was at the establishment playing cards and shooting people." It wouldn't have bothered him one bit to know Ramsay was going to be locked up for some time or swinging from the end of a rope but he supposed he should be glad to know he hadn't come out here directly after talking to Sansa. He couldn't say it completely eased his worries there. 

Pod went one back outside, mentioning some chores he needed to do before breakfast, and Beth went to the kitchen to help Sansa. Jon sat and pondered the shooting but soon dismissed it when Mya came out of her room looking sleepy, still wearing her nightgown with Micah on her hip.

“What're you doing up?” Mya asked him.

“I wanted to eat with y’all. You alright?”

“Fine, just a little one who was fussing and not in the mood to sleep for his mama last night. And you want to eat with us, do you? Couldn't wait for Sansa to come bring you a tray?” She started smirking and his face grew hot.

“That’s right. Give him here if you like.”

She gladly handed over the boy and went to change. When she returned in her working clothes, Micah was perched on Jon’s lap, grinning one of his toothy, drooling grins that melted his heart as sure as the sun could melt butter.

“He’s fond of you,” she said with a wistful smile.

“I’m right fond of him, too. Ouch!” Micah was a little too fond of yanking on his whiskers. Jon wouldn’t say he minded all that much. “You talked to his daddy lately?”

She started poking at the fire and shook her head. “Not since that night. I’m not sure what I want to do yet and don’t go telling me that I owe him another chance and that my son deserves a daddy.”

“I ain’t saying no such thing. He can ask for another chance and you can take your time deciding how you feel about it but Micah’s been doing just fine, thriving from what I can tell, without his daddy around. Even if you wanna let Redfort have a chance to be Micah’s daddy, don’t mean you gotta let him back into your bed unless you want him there, Mya.” She started that smirking again but he pressed on. “And, I won’t insult you by pretending it’s an easy decision for you. Being alone wasn’t easy for my mama but I’m not sure she’d been any better off if my daddy had made more of an effort than he did. And at least she had good folks to help her with me...like you do.”

Mya set the poker down and came to kneel beside him and the baby. “You’re right. You're a good man, Jon.” Sansa’s singing grew a little louder just then and Jon was grinning as happily as the baby in his lap. “I'm glad for both of you by the way."

"Thank you."

"She sure sounds like she's in a good mood this morning,” Mya added with a wink.

“Uh huh.”

“Wonder what brought that on?”

_Me, I hope._ Actually, he was pretty positive of that. “You can tease me all you like, Mya. I know you saw her kiss me last night but I hope you won’t be making Sansa uncomfortable.”

“I may tease her a bit but I don’t plan on vexing her if you’re worried about that. I want her to be happy.”

“I know you do.”

“I want you to be happy, too.”

“Thank you, Mya.”

“But you’d best be very, very good to my friend.”

“It will be my life’s devotion,” he said solemnly.

“I also expect you to give her all the pleasure she’s been denied. Make her toes curl first chance she gives you.”

His jaw dropped. Apparently, Sansa had shared some truths regarding her marriage with Mya. He shouldn’t be surprised really. “I, uh…”

“I’m just saying she’s well overdue for being loved proper inside the bedroom as well as out of it.”

“Holy hell,” he muttered, his face surely ready to catch fire now.

“But you should probably take a bath first,” Mya finished before whisking Micah back out of his lap with her nose scrunched up and a twinkle in her blue eyes.

“Maybe so,” he replied just as Sansa hollered that breakfast was ready and for somebody to ring the bell out back.

* * *

Pod had been kind enough to help him move the hip bath from Sansa’s bedroom to this one after supper while she was busy heating two pails of water over the stove so he wouldn’t be chilled to the bone within seconds of climbing in. Jon hadn't ever bathed in a copper tub before but he'd heard some rich folks had such things and some high-dollar hotels had them in their fanciest suites. Maybe Mr. Baratheon had such a thing at his place. 

When he'd quietly mentioned his wish to take a proper bath to her before supper, she'd readily offered this, saying she didn't want him trekking down to the barn where the old cast iron trough the men used to wash was located. He had to admit that hadn't been terribly appealing to him either. Not that he minded washing in front of Bessie but it was December in Colorado. The wind could cut a man in two when he was still damp in parts and heading back to his fire. 

_"Can't have your cough getting any worse,"_ she'd told him matter-of-factly. 

But all throughout the meal, he'd felt Sansa looking at him, studying him almost. He'd been staring right back at her, wondering if she'd been contemplating on his upcoming bath. _You'd be most welcome to join me. _ The tension had grown so thick he figured everyone else would notice but most of the table had been preoccupied by the gossip from town. 

With the bath half filled with water from the pump, he stuck his hand in and shivered. He'd wait for the hot water...and Sansa. 

He'd just removed his vest and boots when there was a quiet knock. “I brought you some soap, a wash cloth and towel,” she said after he'd bid her to enter.

“Thank you.”

Her towel and wash cloth were soft and clean, a far cry from the pitiful rags they'd make use of on a cattle drive. She'd nursed the sick and ran a horse ranch so he was sure she'd seen her share of filth but if he told her what bathing conditions were like on a drive, she might not ever want him to touch her again. 

_Twenty men or more crowded around the chuckwagon's washtub, scrubbing dust, dirt and shit from cows and horses off them in the same murky water and all of us making use of the cook's couple of dingy towels that would only be hung up to dry before being used on the next wash day. _

Despite what some folks might think, cowboys liked feeling clean as much as the next person. _Well, Tormund had his superstitions about bathing too often. _ Still, there had always been a great deal of excitement if they ran across a river or lake that they could bathe in instead. Of course, no one was heating up the river for them and soap was often used up before the drive finished not to mention tooth powder. 

He felt mighty aware of her presence in here tonight now that they were alone for the first time since early this morning. He set down the towels she'd handed him on the bed and took note of the soap. “That ain’t my usual soap.”

She smiled shyly. “It’s what I use. I hope you don’t mind.”

He brought it up to his nose and inhaled. It was rose scented and he immediately associated it with her hair. “I’m gonna smell awful sweet.”

“I can bring you yours if you prefer,” she said uncertainly.

“Nah, I like knowing I’ll smell like you.” Her smile returned along with a blush. “My sheets will be smelling of you tonight.” _I’d like my sheets smelling of you for another reason._

Her eyes darkened and her tongue darted out to wet her lips almost as if she’d heard his wicked thought.

The air was charged between them once more. She was so close and he wanted her. They knew how they felt about each other and were grown and unattached, free to act on those feelings. Would she be willing? He longed to pull her into his arms and ask. He planned on kissing her some more after he’d bathed. He’d like a lot more than kissing to be honest.

Maybe she would, too.

“I thought I could…only if you agree and once I fetch the hot water…I could stay close while you bathe…in case you needed me.”

"Needed you?"

"Uh huh."

"How close?"

"As close as you wanted me to be." Her flush was spreading across what he could see of her chest. He wondered how far down it might go. 

He didn’t _need_ her here to take a bath but he sure as hell wanted her to stay close. He very much wanted what he suspected she was hinting at. “I would like that.”

She nodded in a dazed sort of way, looking jumpy as a cat in a room filled with rocking chairs. "My...I've cared for Micah and I helped my mama care for my younger brothers when they were little." He nodded, not sure what she was aiming at. He wasn't a little boy. "That don't really count," she scowled. "A man out of his mind or so drunk he didn't care ran down the main street of Silverhill during the Independence Day festivities the year I came here. All the ladies screeched and some covered their eyes but Mya fell over from laughing so hard."

"It wasn't Tormund I hope."

"No!" She started laughing when she caught on he was teasing but grew serious again. "I didn't cover my eyes though I probably screeched like the others. But, I guess I can say I've seen at least one man completely naked in my lifetime anyway." 

"One man..."

She ducked her chin like she was ashamed. "My husband was..."

_A goddamn fool._ He'd be kinder than that for her sake. "Modest?" Her cheeks were scarlet when she nodded. "I ain't all that modest, Sansa."

"I wouldn't mind a little less modesty." Her hands were twisting in her skirts but she kept her eyes on him. "Seems to me that a man and woman who care about each other, who are going to be intimate together would be comfortable with...seeing each other."

"I agree."

Her bravado temporarily fled when he started unbuttoning his shirt. "I gotta fetch that water!" She scurried off and he smiled to himself. If she wanted to see him undressed, he couldn't say he'd mind that one bit. 

When she returned, he was down to his britches and he did not miss the way she faltered a step with her burdens as she caught sight of him. But she didn't leave, oh no. Her eyes were raking up and down him, making a studying of him like she'd seemed to be doing earlier this evening. It was satisfying to his ego to say the least.

"Lemme do that," he said, taking the pails from her to pour into the bath. 

She shut the bedroom door and came to stand next to him. She was nervous but he knew his woman was brave, too. 

The steam wafted up between them as that staring like at supper resumed. He thought of his hunger for more than breakfast this morning and the way she was looking at him now spoke of her own hunger. _"She's well overdue for being loved proper,"_ Mya had said. 

"I'm gonna get in." If she wanted to leave the bedroom before he finished undressing, this was her chance. 

“Best not let it get cold,” she said before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

His britches and skivvies quickly dropped to the floor but he took his time climbing in. His backside was to her and he kept his eyes on what he was doing so she could have her look without feeling so self-conscious over it. The water was warm and soothing and he groaned appreciatively, finally looking her way again.

"Not too hot?" she asked, biting at her bottom lip and looking more than a little feverish...just as he'd hoped. 

"It's perfect but I seemed to have left the soap and wash cloth over there." She gave him a sly smile. _Yes, I may have done that on purpose._

Mya had turned in early tonight with her boy. Beth was already abed. The men were all down at the bunkhouse except Loras who’d rode into town after supper to pay a visit to Mr. Baratheon tonight.

She rose and rolled up the sleeves of her dress next before carrying the wash cloth and soap to him. His heart was thumping so loud he'd swear it'd moved up between his ears. Meanwhile, things were growing decidedly stiff between his legs as she knelt beside the hip bath and dipped the cloth into the water. 

“Sansa? What do you want tonight?” Best to be upfront, he figured.

She methodically worked the soap into a lather on the cloth before answering. “I want this...and I want you. I want..." Her eyes darted towards the bed. 

"I am overjoyed to hear it."

"But, I worry about your cough."

"I've not coughed in hours now and I assure you, I'd walk through hell with nary a drop of water if it meant I'd get to lie with you once I reached the other side."

She laughed lightly and tried again. "I wouldn’t wish to set a poor example for Beth.” 

He kept himself from smirking. He knew how she worried over the younger ones and what was proper but he suspected she wouldn't need too much persuading to act on her desires. “She's already turned in.”

“This is true." She set the soap down by the bath and sniffed at the washcloth, obviously relishing the fragrance. He'd like her sniffing him like that once he was clean. 

“We can hardly set a poor example for her if she’s not aware of where you're spending your evening.”

"You have a point." She slowly drug the soapy wash cloth up his arm and across his shoulders. His head rolled back, savoring the caress and her closeness. “Ghost will be pawing at the door soon,” she offered next as the cloth moved to his chest. 

“Not tonight, he won’t."

"Raise you arm. What makes you say that?" she asked as she washed him thoroughly, her eyes darting down into the water at time or two. The water wasn't all that deep and his arousal would be impossible to conceal even by lantern light. She could look all she liked. This was a damned sight more exciting than bathing in front of a cow. 

"You'll get your pretty dress wet when I go to rinse."

"Maybe I'll remove it first."

"I wholeheartedly agree with that plan but leave your shift on. I want to take that off of you."

A breathy little sound followed that statement. Her eyes were dark as sapphires. She dipped the cloth in the water and started on his other arm. "You're distracting me. Why won't Ghost be coming tonight?"

"I may have told a little fib to Pod when we were moving the bath in here."

She started grinning. “A fib?”

“I said I feared Ghost was aggravating my cough at night and asked Pod to keep him at the bunkhouse with him tonight.”

“That was a wretched fib to tell, Jon Snow, blaming an innocent dog.”

“You may punish me as you see fit, ma’am."

"And if I saw fit to punish you by standing up and walking out of this room?" 

"I'd finish this bath feeling right sorry for myself and hope I could make amends to you tomorrow."

She paused as if she was truly debating the matter. He was not fooled. He flicked a bit of water at her and got a grin before she used one of the pails to douse his head. "Wash your face and lean forward so I may get your backside."

"Best get it all."

"I plan on it." Oh, he liked the saucy way she'd said that. 

He washed his face and scrubbed at his beard. He loved the way she rubbed his back, easing all his aches and pains. Her hands dipped down below the belt just once. She'd get bolder with time and intimacy, he thought.

"How can I be sore when I ain't worked in days?" he groaned when she was working at the knots in his shoulders. 

"Still sore from your fall I reckon or maybe from being inactive when you're used to moving about all the time."

"I'll be moving tonight at least."

She laughed softly as she rinsed his back. "I'm gonna wash your hair for you."

"I would love that."

"You would, huh?"

"Oh, yes. You have all of me, darling.”

“I do?” she asked, her expression turning tender, hopeful. There was more to loving a woman proper than what he might do to her in the bed. 

“All of my heart, all of my body, all of my attention...you can have whatever you want from me."

"That's a very good answer."

"So, what do you want?”

“You. I want you.” She leaned into him, their heads knocking together playfully before she kissed him passionately. His hands came up out of the water to frame her face. "Ooh!" she squealed in protest but his mind was on her reply to his question. 

"That's the best answer I ever heard to any question ever."

She laughed. "First, you need to finish your bath."

"I ain't been cleaned everywhere just yet," he said, his eyes flitting downward with a wink.

“You’re wicked.”

“I am. I’m your wicked man.”

“I love my man.”

“I love my woman. Tomorrow night, maybe I'll give her a bath."

"Tomorrow night, she might like that."

The playfulness ended when he kissed her hand and asked sincerely, "Are you gonna spend the night in this room with me, darling?"

She kissed his hand back in response before holding it over her heart. “I most certainly am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in the next chapter we'll pick back up at this point from Sansa's POV where-
> 
> a) the ghost of Captain Cockblocker Robb Stark will make an appearance  
b) Tormund will pay a call at a most inconvenient moment with 'big news.'  
c) Ramsay will come crashing through the ceiling just as they make it to the bed.  
d) Jon will make Mya proud in the toe curling department *waggles eyebrows*


	17. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa make love for the first time and the sheriff comes to call. 
> 
> (Not at the same time, thank God!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me right now after building up to the sex for sixteen chapters and hoping you guys won't be too disappointed...

She was grateful he’d understood her wish to be in here, to see him first before they went any further. As hard as it had been in a way to confess the rather embarrassing truths of her marriage, she’d hoped Jon would be understanding and he had been.

_“A man in his prime.”_

Mya’s words had been echoing inside her head from the moment she’d returned with the water and seen him without a shirt for the first time.

Jon was lean but muscular as she’d expect a man accustomed to laboring like him to be. There were a few scars which didn’t surprise her much either. Driving cattle was hard work and could have its hazards and he’d told her he’d been shot during the horrible incident with Mr. Thorne’s men. There were a couple of small burn marks visible as well. No doubt there was a story to go with them. It might sound funny but she looked forward to learning the stories behind each of his scars and then kissing every last one of them.

When he dropped his britches though, she was distracted from his scars to say the least. She bit at her lip to keep from embarrassing herself by uttering words that wouldn’t be fitting. Telling a man _‘I like the look of your backside’_ was hardly proper manners but she did like it. If she wasn’t already sitting on the bed away from him, she might’ve had to forcibly clasp her hands together to resist the temptation to pat it. The way his strong back narrowed downward to his waist, Sansa had never considered that a man’s body could be beautiful same as a woman’s until now.

At present, she was washing his hair and couldn’t say who was happier with that. He was lying back against the rim of the bath, his lips parted and his eyes closed. His eyelashes were impossibly full and lush. That seemed unfair somehow. No matter, she decided as she massaged his scalp. She loved the smell of the soap and the slick feel of the lather and his wet hair between her fingers.

She loved the intimacy of this even more. This felt like the sort of thing lovers would do. She wanted them to be lovers in the truest sense, not just a man and woman who dwelt under the same roof.

Though it would be downright scandalous to say so, she was also terribly curious about his manhood. She had seen her husband’s naturally. That would’ve been impossible for Willas to keep fully concealed from her after all though she’d never had opportunity to look her fill in this way with Willas. To be honest, she hadn’t much wanted to.

But a devilish desire to see Jon, to see _all_ of Jon had possessed her and she’d taken more than a few peeks since he’d climbed into the bath. Initially, as it had protruded slightly from its nest of dark hair, she couldn’t say it was any different than the naked fool’s from town or the classical paintings of men she’d seen in various picture books over the years but then, when he’d started to become aroused as she’d washed him…well, it was certainly a different member altogether, wasn’t it?

“You’re flushed a pretty pink, darling,” he said slyly as his eyes opened.

_Caught looking and wrapped up in your lustful thoughts_. “Must be the steam from the hot water,” she replied with feigned nonchalance.

His smirk told her he wasn’t fooled. “The water’s cooling down fairly quick.”

He was right about that. “I’ll fetch your towel.”

She handed him the pail to rinse his head and dipped her hands into the soapy water, wishing the sudden wild fluttering in her belly would calm some. _It’s just a bit of nerves. Nothing wrong with having a bit of nerves,_ she told herself as she decided it was time for another step. She rose and dried her hands before deftly unbuttoning her dress and pulling it over her head.

The room felt chilly with no fireplace in it but there was a fire burning within when she turned back to face Jon, a thrill of both excitement and anxiousness racing through her. His eyes were fastened upon her as she stood in nothing but her unmentionables and stockings. Those dark grey eyes grew darker as she slowly removed the pins from her hair and combed her fingers through it before grasping the towel upon the bed and carrying it to him.

She held it out. “If you’d prefer that I turn away…”

“No.”

One simple word but spoken in his deep husky voice with an authority she’d heard in his tone a few times now. She shivered and her face grew hot yet again but she was not ashamed truly.

Jon Snow was _not_ modest, not at all with her anyway.

He stood slowly, the rivulets of water sliding down his muscled shoulders, chest and thighs and dripping from the ends of his damp curls, those upon his head and elsewhere. A heathen desire to lick them off of him possessed her. She felt like giggling and lightly touched her cheek with her free hand when he grasped the towel, their fingers brushing like they had that very first night when he’d tentatively knocked on her back door.

She watched him towel off, her palms itching to touch him but something holding her back, waiting for the moment that touching could be all about them. Dry at last and standing face to face, his eyes held hers captive.

“You’re sure?”

Relations with her husband had always been her giving and him taking whenever the mood struck him. He hadn’t been unkind or rough with her but when he came to claim his rights, it had been entirely his say. She had wanted a say. She had wanted to give but she’d wanted to take some, too. Was that so horrible?

_No, it’s not. Jon will give you that._

“I’m sure.” She placed his hand upon her shoulder that felt cold without her dress. “Touch me if you like.”

“I’d like nothing better.” His calloused hand rubbed up and down her upper arm, warming her flesh as the affection in his eyes warmed her heart.

Goosebumps started to appear upon them both but Sansa wasn’t certain hers were caused by the temperature. “We should get in bed. Won’t do your cough any good standing here undressed.”

“I wanna see you first.”

Ordinarily, she’d say she was modest by nature but tonight she very much wanted to be seen. With fingers that only trembled slightly, she reached for the ties of her stays. He immediately began to help with loosening them. He clearly knew how to unlace a lady’s undergarments but she refused to let that bother her. _We lived a life before we met_.

Once the stays were removed, he pulled her shift over her head, gingerly easing her waves of auburn hair free of it and watching them fall over her shoulders with an expression somewhere between tender adoration and fiery passion. He wrapped a strand around his fist, his thumb and forefinger lightly stroking it as if he wanted to commit the feel of it to memory.

Men had been looking at her, admiring her beauty for as long as she could recall wanting to be admired. It was nothing new to her and, once she’d grown up some, she’d realized that many of them saw her as a pretty object to be possessed, claimed. It was one thing she’d dearly appreciated about Willas, the way he’d respected her for her mind. But a woman likes to feel beautiful as well, especially when it’s her husband gazing at her.

But the way Jon was looking at her now? It was different than Willas but different from all those other men, too. It was hard to describe how. She just felt it in her bones and knew that she loved it.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Sansa. I knew it the night I brought your lace napkin back. I think I knew it the moment we met even. I can’t believe...” He grinned as he lost the thread of what he was saying while his hand slowly trailed down her cotton chemise to her fancy lace drawers she’d worn especially with this evening in mind.

“What can’t you believe?”

“That I’m permitted to do this.”

His arm looped around her waist, pulling her body against his, the lace of her drawers meeting the hardness of his manhood as his labor-roughened hands crept up under her chemise to caress the soft skin of her back. He stood there transfixed, staring at her and she could feel her heart glowing from the weight of that stare. By some unspoken agreement, their lips met a few moments later in a kiss filled with promises.

“The bed,” she murmured against his lips when they parted for breath.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He walked her backwards until the backs of her knees met the mattress. She gave in and giggled when he swept her chemise off in one deft move and clutched it to his heart as he beheld her breasts for the first time.

“God Almighty, you’re perfect,” he swore like a man overcome.

She shook her head at his blasphemy but guided his hand to cup her breast with no fabric in the way. She had loved the way he’d touched her last night and this morning. His touch was intent on her pleasure, not his, she knew.

It was his fingers that trembled now and it pleased her to know he was no more steady feeling than she was.

His other hand clutched at her hip and he surprised her the next moment when he leaned forward and startled suckling at her breast. This felt even better than his hand there and she was getting weak-kneed. She watched him, breathless and afraid of saying a word for fear he might stop. He was making a study of her face as he teased her nipple with his tongue, testing to see if this was welcome or not. It was very welcome. That heat low in her belly started to unfurl. He would be her undoing and she would thank him for it.

She cupped his cheek when he moved back up to kiss her lips again. “I love you.”

“I love you, darling. Lie back for me now.”

She did as he instructed while he knelt at the edge of the bed and began rolling down her stockings. “It’s cold,” she complained half-heartedly.

“I’ll be sure to warm you,” he told her with a wink. “I wanna see every inch of my woman.” And didn’t that make her heart flutter all over again?

Her lacy drawers were removed last and he reverently glided his hands up and down her thighs before encouraging her to spread them.

“I want it to be enjoyable for you,” he murmured. “I mean to love you in all the ways I know how. I mean to cherish your dear heart.” He licked his lips. “But at the moment, I mean to worship your pretty cunt.”

She gasped at his filthy language and then gasped again when his tongue swiped her womanly place the first time.

One night many months ago, Mya had whispered of this act to her when Beth had been out of the room. She recalled trying to hide her curiosity and ignorance and how she’d dismissed it in her mind as something improper and surely nothing much to regret having not experienced. How wrong she was.

_It may not be proper but Merciful Lord, it is so sweet._

He nuzzled into her and began lapping at her sex more intently. Her hands balled into fists as that sensation started tightening up within her, wanting to be set loose.

She squirmed beneath him, half-ashamed of how she wanted to press herself against him more firmly. He looked up from between her thighs with a sly grin on his face. “Easy now. Don’t fight it, darling.”

Easy now? Did he sooth skittish horses this way? Did she care?

_No,_ she decided when he lowered his head once more.

His hands came up to hold her hips and Sansa relaxed enough to allow her thighs to sag further apart. His eyes darted up to meet her own, so dark with passion they seemed black. His hungry look seared her but she wasn't afraid.

“Jon…”

_“Mmmm._”

Her eyes rolled back when she felt him hum that into her very core. His tongue worked back up her slit until it found her nub and he began teasing, licking and lightly sucking her there. His fingers joined his mouth before long. She writhed wantonly from his ministrations, telling herself not to mind the wet sounds he made with his mouth on her nor the desperate grunts escaping from her lips as her usual ladylike concerns were completely forgotten.

Jon grasped her hips to slide her back towards him where her squirming had been working her away from the edge of the bed. Then, he swept her thighs up over his shoulders as his tongue continued working her and his fingers resumed their attentions, keeping his eyes locked on hers the whole time.

“God Almighty,” she whimpered as that heat began to uncoil in rapturous waves.

She arched her back and her toes curled. She wildly reached for his shoulders and found his hair instead. She hoped he didn’t think she meant to scalp him. But before long, she couldn’t worry about that. She had completely shattered beneath him with gleeful abandon.

Vaguely, she was aware of Jon wiping at his face with an endearing but smug look before he kissed her. She could taste herself on his lips. She would not be embarrassed by it. He loved her and had wanted to please her. Good God, had he ever.

In a haze, she let him guide her into the bed properly and join her under the covers. She wore a silly smile no doubt. She didn’t care even when ringing in her ears and the flickering behind her eyelids subsided.

“That was very…I don’t know what that’s called but I very much enjoyed it.”

“I don’t have a proper name for it but I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did.” It was lovely. Everything was lovely. Their bodies were snug together here under the quilts with the scent of roses surrounding them and she could nearly drift off to sleep in his arms but she wanted more and knew he wanted her. She tugged at him, urging him on top of her. “Make love to me, Jon.”

And, he did. Oh, he did.

Positioning himself between her legs, he glanced down and rubbed the head of his manhood against her damp folds. Her breath hitched as he slid inside her and then they both moaned together, the sounds overlapping.

“Alright?”

She nodded, not sure how else to answer. This was far more than ‘alright.’ She loved the way he filled her. She loved the way he held her to him, his eyes watching her face.

It was not perfect at once or anything. They were working to learn each other in the midst of a very intimate act. But, he was an attentive lover, taking note of what she liked and asking what felt better. She was his apt pupil and, as they found their rhythm, she surrendered herself to bliss.

“Sansa…goddamn, you’re tight and…fuck, it’s so good,” he said in a strained voice when she rolled her hips to meet his thrust just so.

She should probably have been appalled by his profanity. She wasn’t. She swelled with pleasure to know he was finding his bliss, too.

The bedframe squeaked noisily as his thrusts became more insistent. She wickedly relished the sound. _High time this bed was broken in._

He kissed his way down her throat, never ceasing his steady movements. His tongue raked across one of her nipples before latching on to the other, lathing and suckling as she nearly lost her mind again from the ecstasy of it.

“Don’t stop,” she begged as the tension and tightness in her belly started climbing towards that plateau again, that one which promised to break her into a thousand pieces of joy.

His eyes met hers and he could see it coming upon her. “That’s right, darling. Let go ‘cause I ain’t far behind.” His mouth returned to her breasts and he was pounding into her with every breathy moan that fell from her lips.

Her eyelids fluttered closed for the second time this night from sweet, sweet release he’d brought her. Her legs shook but she wrapped them around his hips and cried his name, running her fingernails lightly through his hair and down his back, bucking madly as she chased down every aching, pulsing drop of pleasure to be had.

This was what all the fuss was about, what the poet’s and singers alluded to, wasn’t it? She felt loved. More than sated, more than happy, she truly felt _loved_ for the first time.

_“How often he come to your bed?”_ Mya had once asked her of Willas.

_“Once a week usually, sometimes more, sometimes less.”_

_“That all?”_

_“That’s enough, isn’t it?”_

Mya had looked at her with pity but Sansa hadn’t been able to fathom wanting relations more often than that.

She knew better now. She could see herself wanting this every night…maybe more than once a night even…maybe not just at night either.

But the next instant, she felt bereft when he hips jerked back and he pulled out of her with a muffled curse. She felt his hot, sticky seed landing on her stomach a moment later. Her eyes flew open along with her mouth and a sick feeling in her gut drove her bliss away.

Why had he done that? Did he not want the same things as her from this? He loved her, yes, but were his intentions as honorable as she’d hoped or was she mistaken? Was this only about pleasure in the end? They had not spoken of their future plainly. Had she misunderstood something? Did he have plans to move on someday? Was he only a more thoughtful version of Mychel Redfort not wishing to leave her with a bastard to raise when he was gone?

She should know better than that. Her heart shouted at those awful doubts but there was only one way to silence them for good.

“Jon?” she asked, hating the quavering of her voice.

His body was shuddering atop hers. He was still panting for breath, a beatific smile on his handsome face. But when he saw the confused tears welling in her eyes, he tenderly brushed her hair back before kissing her brow. “No, no, darling. Please, don’t be crying.”

“Why did you…”

“I sincerely wanted to spend inside of you but I thought it’d be wiser to wait until you’re Mrs. Snow.”

“Mrs. Snow?” she repeated in a strangled voice.

There was a flash of that vulnerability she’d seen in him when he’d been new to the ranch and after he’d shared his past with her along with some sheepishness. “It’s what I want but…what do you want?”

“I…” She stared at him in disbelief. Could he not know? _He might not. It has not been discussed after all._ He could just as easily question her wishes as she could question his.

“I know I ain’t got nothing to offer you except a different last name. This is your ranch and the only dollars I have to my name were once yours. I’m wanted in another state and, like it or not, that may catch up with me someday. I’m nowhere near good enough to be asking a lady like you but I’m asking anyway. I want to marry you, Sansa. Would you wanna marry me?”

“I won’t listen to that kind of talk.” His face crumpled in dismay until she explained. “I will not listen to you putting yourself down again, Jon Snow. You’re to be my husband and you’ve everything to offer me, far more than just your name, a name I will be proud to take whenever we choose to go and pay a call on the good reverend.” The beatific smile from earlier returned. “But I want more than your name and more than your love even. I’d like to have children someday. I’d like this ranch filled with them if God will allow. Could you see yourself wanting that as well at some point?”

“Yes, I would like that very much. I want sweet, lovely daughters as brave and strong as their mama.”

“Good because I want brave, strong sons as gentle and loving as their daddy.” He nodded before kissing her soundly. “I’m glad we’re agreed then because the next time you make love to me, I hope you’ll not pull away so soon, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” he murmured. “Sansa?”

“Yes?”

“I think I may wind up crying some of those happy tears of yours now.”

“I’ll gladly join you in them,” she said, stroking his cheek as they laughed softly together despite their watery eyes.

* * *

Two days later, Sansa stood on her front porch with Loras by her side, secretly grateful that Jon had succumbed to the temptation of a nap this afternoon at last shortly before the sheriff and two of his deputies rode up.

_“This is ridiculous, darling. My head’s fine and my cough is better. I should be out there working with the others.”_

_“Dr. Luwin said a week. It’s not been a full week yet.”_

_“Close enough.”_ He’d seen her scowl. _“I’m just not cut out for being idle is all.”_

_“You weren’t too idle last night,”_ she’d reminded him though it had made her cheeks bloom with color to say it.

_“And I’m still breathing as you can see though my woman left me breathless.”_

Her cheeks had no doubt grown pinker. He’d reached for her hand, giving a tug. If he could pull her down beside him, she’d have been lost and then neither of them would’ve been good for anything the rest of the day. His kisses left her dizzy. His touches left her a panting, desperate mess.

She’d stepped back out of his reach. _“A short rest today before suppertime would be beneficial and tomorrow we might see you working again.”_

_“I’m not a boy and I’m barely coughing at all,” _he’d grumbled.

_“No, you’re not a boy. You’re my man who I mean to take care of and to marry.”_

His churlish look had changed into an achingly sweet grin…until some deviltry had come over him. _“You know, darling, there’s ways you could get me to never want to leave my bed if you like.”_

_“Rest, you wicked thing. I know you didn’t sleep well.”_

_“I slept very well. I just didn’t get all that much sleep, is all.”_

Despite his grumbles over not managing to seduce her, he’d been snoring away when she’d checked on him thirty minutes later.

For now, the change in things between herself and Jon was known to none…except Mya. Her dear friend had happened to catch her sneaking back to her own bedroom that first morning.

_“I was just checking if he needed a, uh…”_

Mya’s pleased smirk had reduced Sansa to a giggling girl. She’d barely pulled her dress back on. Her shift, stays and stocking had all been in her arms.

_“Of course, there’s nothing to tell really except…”_

Mya’s eyebrows had climbed up her forehead, daring her to lie.

_“One of us is moving rooms soon, I reckon. I hope Beth won’t be too shocked,”_ she’d stammered before racing off to her room with her friend’s chuckles following her.

“What do you reckon he wants?” she asked Loras out of the side of her mouth as the three men dismounted.

“Rodrik and Mya went to speak with him about the trespassers the other night. I’d assume he’s following up…five days later. Are you alright, Sansa?”

She shook herself. “I’m fine.” She shouldn’t allow herself to be so rattled by this visit.

She’d contemplated asking Jon to join her in speaking with Karstark about their trespassers prior to learning of his accident that night. But knowing all she did of his past now, she didn’t want to bring Jon within a hundred paces of the sheriff. It was best if Jon Snow remain nearly anonymous to the bulk of Silverhill.

_And how’s that going to work when you become Mrs. Snow? Folks are going to talk._

_Jon Snow’s a common enough sounding name. There could be dozens or even a hundred Jon Snows in this country. He won’t return to Kansas and those men are likely still there. Karstark’s here for the trespassing business. Get a hold of yourself. You’d starve to death if you had to make your living as a gambler if you’re this jumpy over him paying a call._

“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” she said politely as the man removed his hat and rested a booted foot on the bottom most step of her porch.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I came out to tell you we caught your troublemakers from the other night.”

That was a surprise. She’d not given it too much thought after Pod had said Ramsay was in jail at the time.

Loras spoke up before she could. “They certainly caused their share of trouble and we were fortunate that Jon was not seriously…”

Alarmed, she pinched his arm, shooting him a swift but apologetic look when he gasped. Karstark did not seem to take note of anything odd in her interruption of Loras’ flow.

“Thank you, Sheriff, for letting me know. Who was it?”

“Just three of them Frey boys getting up to mischief.”

“Mischief?” she repeated.

Licorice alone would be a worth his weight in gold when it came time for breeding. She could’ve lost nearly a quarter of her stock that night not to mention Bessie and Ghost had been injured. More than money though, these animals were part of her ranch. No, they were not truly pets, barring Ghost, but they were hers and everyone here cared about their welfare.

Mastering her temper since she could tell Loras was about to lose his, she asked, “How did you learn of it? Was there a confession?”

“Of a sort. One of those Frey boys had a hunk took out of his hand and was forced to tell his mama how it’d happened. When’d you get a dog anyway?”

She forced herself not to look for Ghost. She wouldn’t want to draw attention to him if he was around. She didn’t want Karstark and his men any nearer the dog than she wanted them around Jon for some reason. “I’ve had him for a bit now. He’s good with the horses and a good watchdog.”

“Well, he can’t go around biting folks.”

“He can when they’re trespassing on my property,” she said, her temper stirring.

Karstark conceded her point with a nod. “Well, the boy who was bit wound up confessing to his mama what had happened. She said they’d all still reeked of liquor the next morning and their daddy thrashed them with a switch before making them come make an apology to me.”

“Apologize to you?!” Loras asked with disdain. “It’s Sansa’s livestock that were threatened, her property that was violated, sir.”

Sansa was too distracted to share Loras’ anger by the question of why they’d done it. Other than Wex not continuing to drink with them, she had no connection with the Freys at all. Why come out here if they were looking for trouble when there was plenty of places closer to town they might find it?

“Anyway, I’m here to see if you want to press further charges. Not one of em’s over sixteen and they’ve all been punished already from what I can tell but we can hold a hearing and such if you prefer, of course. It is your right as the landowner and the injured party.”

A hearing in the matter might mean bringing Jon into it. “No, that’s alright, Sheriff. I’ll let the matter go and consider the boys disciplined enough.” Karstark put his hat back on and turned to leave as something else ate at her. “Oh, Sheriff? Is Mr. Bolton still in jail for that shooting?”

“No, ma’am. Hornwood drew first and his family’s not pursuing the matter.”

“Not pursuing the matter?” Was that Mrs. Hornwood’s wish or someone else’s?

“Yes. The charges have been dismissed.”

“Of course they have,” she grumbled as the sheriff turned to leave again.

Once they were gone, she asked Loras to inform Rodrik and Mya of the news and went back inside to see Jon. She took off her coat and hung it on the peg by the door before asking Beth about supper. Telling the girl she’d be along to help shortly, she carefully opened to bedroom door…to find an empty bed.

He was up and dressed, peering out the window to watch Karstark ride off. He spun around to face her, his eyes betraying his worry.

“You were supposed to be resting.”

“I think I’ve rested long enough.”

She couldn’t keep fighting him on it. He was right. He was clearly well enough for work and it was what he wanted.

She strode over to his side and glanced out the window. The three riders were mere specks at this point. _Far from us, long may they stay so._

“Did it make you nervous them being here?” she asked gently.

“Not really.” She quirked an eyebrow in skepticism. “Alright. Yeah, it did.”

She leaned into him, nuzzling into his neck as she pondered how to ask something. “Jon? Do you…could we share some of your concerns with the others? With Mya, Rodrik and Loras anyhow? I think it might be best for them to know in case anything ever comes up.”

His expression told her at once he did not wish to. “I…I’d hate to see any of them looking at me with…distrust.”

“I didn’t look at you that way.”

“No but you’re you and, while I trust them all, I hate to burden anyone else with my business.”

He didn’t like speaking of it and he had his pride, she knew. “I understand,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You told me you want to protect me, you remember?”

“Of course, I do. I’ll always do everything I can to protect you, darling.”

“I’m glad but I hope you know I’d do anything to protect you as well.”

“I know you would.”

“We’ll keep your past between ourselves if you prefer but someday, sharing it might be unavoidable.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed wearily before burying his face in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we'll see Jon and Sansa settling into their change of relationship status as winter begins but also some more of the other characters on the ranch and in town. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I've got a couple of shorter fics I want to finish along with an update for an older fic I desperately want to get done but I'm having so much fun writing this story. I hope to keep updating this regularly until it's done *fingers crossed*


	18. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon settles into his new role on the ranch as wedding plans are made and makes a new acquaintance in town.

The late autumn winds blew fiercely in the days leading up to Christmas but Jon barely noticed. There was an all-pervading warmth in his heart to chase any cold weather away and plenty of passion in his nights to rival the heat of summer.

Loras had been invited to move back into Willas’ room after Jon had declared to one and all he was well and returning to work the morning after the sheriff’s visit. He did not want Willas’ room any more than he wished to make the acquaintance of Karstark. True, he and Sansa had made love in that room the first time and the second, third, fourth and...well, he’d not kept a firm count. He would always treasure the memories of the talks and the loving they’d shared while surrounded by those four walls but Sansa had said she preferred her room the other day for long term and he would happily call it his as well.

Theoretically, he’d returned to the bunkhouse when Loras had returned to the house for the sake of propriety until they wed. But Rodrik and the boys said nothing about him lingering in the house well after supper and his faithful friend Ghost was enjoying the novelty of having a bunk all to himself since Jon spent most of his nights in Sansa’s room. Often enough, he’d creep back down to the bunkhouse before dawn but if she’d sleepily stir when he made to rise, wrapping an arm around him and murmuring for him to stay, he was hardly going to argue. He wanted nothing so much as to stay with her always.

There had been some awkwardness the other morning when he’d walked out of Sansa’s room to find Beth bundled up on her way out to milk Bessie. The girl’s cheeks had colored and she’d rushed out the door with only a mumbled ‘Good morning.’ Neither of them wished to shock the girl by carrying on thusly. And though he didn’t reflect on such matters all the time, he knew that the ranch hand warming the lady of the house’s bed wasn’t what was considered proper or moral.

A few nights later though when Jon arrived at the table later than everyone else, he was surprised to find a very obvious change in his status from a mere ranch hand to something more had taken place. Rodrik was sitting in his usual seat and the head of the table had been left vacant for him. Glancing around the faces at the table, he could see no signs that this was some sort of farce based on the expectant and happy expressions he found. He met Sansa’s eyes where she sat at the foot of the table and liked the way her eyes glowed with pride and pleasure.

He gingerly took his new seat, quite conscious of his every move. 

“I hope all was well down at the stables with Poppy,” Sansa said with some delicacy once he was seated.

From what Mya had said, the mare had become pregnant in April after going into heat a little earlier than the others. The foal wasn’t expected until around February but this was her first pregnancy and she’d been rather listless in her stall the past few days. They'd all been concerned but, thankfully, he’d discovered the cause this evening.

“All was well. There was a small but irksome pebble that had wedged itself between her shoe and hoof apparently. It was easy to miss but once I found and removed it, you would swear the poor girl sighed with relief.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.”

Everyone else agreed and platters and bowls were passed his way to fill his plate before they said grace. Once that was done, they all dug into their meals with relish.

But for once, Jon was busier savoring something other than Sansa’s cooking at this table. It was something a lot of men might have taken for granted. Perhaps it was something that many men would expect or even feel was owed to them simply for being men but it meant a great deal to him. He’d never thought he would sit at the head of a table such as this surrounded by people he cared for with the woman he loved sitting opposite him and soon to be his bride. From his boyhood in the boarding house to his lonely, drifting lifestyle as a cowboy, he’d never believed such things were meant for him at all. His pleasure at being proven wrong was profound to say the least and he needed a moment to soak it in.

He glanced between Rodrik and Sansa. Had she suggested he move tonight? Had he made the offer himself? His eyes flitted to Mya next. Had she had a hand in this?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. He had walked onto this ranch less than three months ago thanks to Brienne’s good word, hat in hand and seeking a job. He’d wanted steady employment, a place to keep him and Ghost out of the snows come winter. By the time he’d ate his first meal under this roof, he’d realized he wanted to be a part of things here, not some hired hand who would drift off when it suited and not forever an outsider. He’d wished to be a part of this ranch and this little family. He had all that and so much more now thanks to Sansa.

Coming to a decision, he sat down his fork and knife before taking his first bite. “Sansa? I was wondering if tonight would be a good time to share our news with everyone.” They’d discussed it just last night and agreed.

“Yes, I think it would be a fine time, Jon.”

She looked at him expectantly. He’d sort of thought she’d go ahead and say. She could say it more eloquently probably. _Well, you brought it up._ He swallowed his minor discomfort at being the object of everyone’s curiosity and spit it out.

“We wanted to let you know Sansa and I are getting married after services on Christmas Day.”

It was a logical choice, convenient really. No one would be working that day except the reverend who could marry them easily enough after his sermon. No muss or fuss. Just two people going before God to be bound for life. Admittedly, that made his stomach twist with some nerves but he honestly couldn’t wait to call her his wife for the first time.

For a few beats, he was met with blank stares from around the table. Did they think he was fooling them? He couldn’t blame them for thinking Sansa marrying him was some sort of poor joke.

Sansa was nodding subtly towards the others and looking at him with wide eyes as if she expected him to say something else. _What else am I supposed to say? Oh, yeah!_

“Naturally, we’d love for you all to be our witnesses and celebrate with us afterwards.”

That seemed to put an end to the suspense for the next moment Mya shouted, “Hot damn!” just as Wex started pounding the table with his fist in approval.

Surprised by his mother’s outburst, Little Micah squawked and then knocked over his milk as Beth started chattering away. “A wedding! Oh, how romantic! I’m so happy for you both! Sansa, may I hold your flowers? May I wear Mama’s old gown to the service, Daddy?”

Rodrik didn’t answer his daughter. He was too intent on rising to come and shake Jon’s hand while Pod was trying his best to strangle him in a one-armed embrace.

Loras jumped up from the table and darted to his room, returning a minute later with two bottles of wine. “Nothing but the finest from the Tyrell family’s little vineyard to celebrate this wonderful news!”

The bottles and congratulations passed around the table for the duration of supper and beyond. Talk of weddings in general flowed around the room, from the most extravagant Loras had ever attended in Philadelphia to Rodrik’s tale of a mail order bride who took one look at her intended and promptly married another fella she’d met at a saloon an hour earlier instead.

Ghost was invited indoors for his supper and Pod sang a tune after three glasses of Loras’ excellent grapes. Beth and Sansa had their heads together, discussing dresses, hats and fripperies as Mya happily rocked Micah, beaming with good will at them all.

And throughout, nothing could’ve wiped the smile off Jon’s face. Even when he fell into bed hours later, himself more than half-drunk with Sansa already snoring soundly by his side and knowing dawn would come far too early the next morning, could he stop smiling like the happiest man on Earth. Probably because that’s precisely what he was.

* * *

  
  
The next day, his head pounding most unfortunately, Jon was pondering on what he might buy his bride for a Christmas gift. He was down at the stables with Mya seeing to the horses and had asked her opinion. So far, Mya’s ideas weren’t all that different than his.

“You could get her something to wear.”

He could but she already had a number of pretty dresses and he knew nothing of women’s fashions. “Maybe a pretty bonnet?”

“Sure. She’d probably like that.” Mya smirked a second later, giving him a knock with her shoulder. “You could always get a gift for you both.”

“Like what? New dishes or something?” That sounded pretty dull.

“No, not that. I meant something the two of you could _enjoy_.” Seeing his continued confusion, she elaborated. “There’s places in town to buy things for ladies outside of Poole’s Mercantile or the millinery. Things Sansa could wear and you could appreciate. Lacy things that go under a lady’s corset and petticoats. Silky ones, too.”

“Oh!” His face grew hot and he scowled as Mya laughed at him. “Shit, Mya.”

She finished her cackling at his expense and wiped her eyes. “You could always get her something sparkly. Ain’t many women would turn down a pretty bauble.”

This was true but did he have enough for a bauble pretty enough for her? _If there is such a thing._ He wanted to buy her a wedding band, something worthy of her. She had the one Willas had given her tucked away somewhere and she had her mother’s. He wanted to buy her one from him but gold was mighty costly. Would she like silver? Silverhill had plenty of that.

Before he could put the question to Mya, he realized she was staring at something up towards the house with a very strained look in her eyes. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

There was a man who appeared to be in some form of confrontation with Sansa while Beth was nervously standing behind her holding Micah. Jon and Mya were already hurrying towards the house when he realized the man was Mychel Redfort.

“I swear I ain’t here to cause trouble,” Redfort said to Sansa, his voice carrying on the wind. “You know me, ma'am.”

“I do know you, Mychel. And, I know you ordinarily would not harm a fly but you’ve been drinking and you’re emotional. That seems like a recipe for trouble to me, sir. I believe it would best if you paid your call another day,” Sansa answered with as much civility as she could muster while keeping herself between the man and Beth.

“Only a little shot of courage, ma’am, to work up my nerves. Mya won’t talk to me but I just wanna see her. I wanna see him, too.”

“And you can plainly see your son from there, Mr. Redfort, but I will not allow you to hold him without Mya’s consent.”

He took a sideways step and Sansa darted to match it, blocking him from climbing her porch. “You can’t keep me from them,” he said in a surly voice.

Jon’s nostrils flared and he wished he had his Colts on him. He spoke loud and clear all the same. “You’ll take three steps back from the lady this minute, mister, if you want to go on breathing.”

He whirled to face Jon and Mya. Sansa looked visibly relieved though her brow was still knitted with anxiety.

Redfort threw his hands up to indicate he was not going to fight. That was good because Jon had already decided if Redfort wanted to fight, it would only end in blood for him. Jon would hate to sully Sansa’s front porch with the blood of Micah’s daddy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face crumpling pitifully as he looked between them all. “You know I ain’t got much head for liquor. I don’t mean no harm. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Mrs. Tyrell. I’m sorry, Beth.” The girl nodded but clutched the baby tighter. He turned back to Mya. “I got rights, don't I? I just want to see him.”

He could hear the pain in the man’s voice but he didn’t feel all that sorry for him. Yes, Mya had been taking her time deciding what she wanted and yes, she’d been avoiding going into town since the night of the dance. Seemed to Jon she could take her sweet time if she liked. She’d had her share of waiting, nearly two years of it, waiting for a man who was never coming back as far as she knew so Redfort could damn well learn some patience. He wasn’t off to a very good start.

Jon cleared his throat to draw the man’s attention. “You can’t show up here expecting things from her. You ain’t got any right to come and make demands after you left the way you did. I think deep down you know it.” Redfort hung his head and Jon was sure he did. “You need to sober up, too. I hope liquor ain’t a vice of yours because it only leads to trouble when a man don’t know when to say when. You’re in no fit condition to speak to these ladies today nor to visit with your boy in my opinion but that’s for Mya to say, I guess. But if you wanna talk to her,” he said, nodding towards Mya, “I’d suggest you start the conversation on your knees.”

Redfort stared stupidly at the ground at his feet. “But it’s all slushy with snow.”

“God Almighty,” Jon muttered, rolling his eyes and vexed beyond belief that poor Micah had this fool for a daddy.

Redfort quickly took the hint and sank to his knees, removing his hat and crushing it in his hands. “I want a chance, Mya. I wanna chance to make things right with you but…I don’t know what to do or if you want that, too. I'd thought with what happened in the stables outside the dance that you were still..." His face grew red and Jon noticed Sansa's did as well. "But I realize that don't mean we're really together again. I know what I did, all the promises I made and then broke. I know I don’t deserve you or him. I wish you could see inside my heart and know how I regretted leaving and questioned my decision so many times after I left that day. But, I did it and I can’t undo it. I don’t know how to fix it but I wanna try. I can say I’m sorry a million times and I still couldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again. I sit up at night thinking about you and him and I wanna make things right but…shit, I’ve only gone and made things worse today.”

Jon turned away from the man's tears to see what Mya thought of that, half expecting her to light into him any second. She didn’t. There were tears in her eyes as well. He’d never seen Mya cry and it hurt him. Redfort had wounded her deeply taking off like he had but she still loved this fool. And maybe he loved her in his own weak-headed way, too.

Swallowing hard, Mya offered an olive branch whether Redfort deserved it or not. “If you can be sober and presentable, I was going to take him to church on Sunday. I make you no promises but you could sit with us if you like during the service.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll…I won’t let you down.”

“No, you already did. I won’t let you do it again. I can't let you do that to him,” Mya said before she raced past him, up the front steps to take Micah from Beth and disappeared into the house. Beth quickly followed her.

Redfort rose and wiped his face before giving Sansa a gangly bow and nodding to Jon. He made his way back to his horse as Jon noticed Rodrik, Loras, Wex and Pod had all emerged from their various tasks to watch the sorry business from a distance.

Ignoring everyone else, he wrapped his arms around Sansa. “You alright?” Confrontations were not pleasant to him and certainly not something she enjoyed, he knew. 

“I am. I’m glad you were here,” she said, leaning into him. 

“You were handling him very well, I thought.”

“Thank you but I’m glad you were here all the same.”

“Did he drink much when he was working here?”

“No. I feel like today was an unusual thing for him.”

“I hope so. Do you need to go to her?”

“No, Beth went to her and Mya would not wish for more than one of us bearing witness to her tears at a time.”

He could understand that. A woman had her pride, same as a man, and Mya was not easily given to displays of emotion unless they were happy ones. 

An enigmatic smile touched Sansa's features a moment later and she stroked his whiskers. “I've missed you all morning."

"I've missed you but we saw each other at breakfast."

"But we were not alone. You left my bed awful early."

He regretted it. He didn't like leaving her bed and soon he planned not to. "Only because I overindulged with the wine last night and felt sickish when I rose."

"Are you feeling alright now?"

"Well enough."

"Will you come inside with me?” she whispered, her cheeks coloring a pretty pink. The enigmatic smile was suddenly quite easy to interpret.

“But…the horses and…”

“Will wait half an hour, won’t they, Mr. Snow?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him and making his pulse jump.

A half-smile flickered upon his face. He quickly looked around but the others had already gone back to their business. He let Sansa lead him into the house, into her bedroom that would soon be theirs.

They'd never made love in the middle of the day before and he was very conscious of the fact, enjoying the indulgent feeling of it. He enjoyed his woman's hungry passion even more. She was pushing his coat and vest over his shoulders before the door was firmly closed. He yanked his boots and shirt off and turned to start freeing her from her dress. She already had his britches down around his ankles before he'd finished with her buttons. Women's clothes were ludicrously more difficult to take on and off, a goddamn shame if you asked him. Still, where there's a will, there's a way, his mama would've said.

"I want...I want something different this time," she panted between their kisses when he had her down to her unmentionables. 

He nodded eagerly and only yelped in delighted surprise when she pushed him down upon the bed and climbed up to straddle him, placing his hat upon her head with a saucy look. Holy hell, she was a vision. 

"You're wanting to break this cowboy, darling?" he teased, chuckling at her half-wanton and half-embarrassed expression at his words. 

"I do."

He ran his callused hands along her creamy thighs and up under her drawers. She was already wet. Her breathy sigh was followed by her busy hands reaching for his cock, giving him a few strokes and then guiding him to her center before she slid downward, shuddering with pleasure.

He bucked his hips and she squealed and then splayed her hands across his chest. "Gotta hang on tight and show me who's in charge then." 

"I plan on it," she said with a wicked grin before she started meeting his thrusts. 

Did she ever. 

Happily exhausted several minutes later, one of his hands was still cupping her perfectly rounded backside as she collapsed across his chest when he could hold out no longer and after her third peak by his reckoning. She'd rode him mercilessly but he was not about to complain. He was hers, heart and soul. She'd lost his hat at one point and her hair was a wild mess of silky fire. He stroked it contentedly while they caught their breath. He didn't much want to head back out into the cold today. 

“I'm thinking of knocking off early today if you'll allow, ma'am.” 

She laughed quietly and curled up beside him “I would certainly allow but I can only imagine you explaining your reasoning to Rodrik."

"A fair point. Reckon I'm heading back outside soon then."

"Not just yet though." She squeezed him tight and he sighed happily. "I’d been curious about trying that and it came to mind a little while ago.”

“I am very glad of it. Any more notions you get in your head of things you want to try, I am all ears.”

She laughed harder before kissing his cheek. “We’re getting married in eight days.”

“Eight days. I cannot wait, darling.”

* * *

The day before Christmas, Jon rode into town with a fistful of dollars in his pocket and a peck of worry eating at his insides. Tonight, there’d be an exchange of gifts amongst the residents of the ranch. Choosing a little something for the boys, the baby and Beth was not difficult. No, what worried him was his desire to buy something suitable for his bride-to-be but having little notion of what to get her with the money he had in hand.

All the same, he headed into the mercantile and wandered the aisles hoping that something would present itself. He spotted some fine buckskin gloves lined with lambswool. He desperately needed a new pair but he wasn’t here to look for him. He shook his head and walked on.

She was fond of reading. Perhaps she’d like a book but what book? Undecided, he wondered if he should walk over to the milliner’s shop and find her a pretty new bonnet after all. He quickly dismissed the notion, knowing he wouldn’t have a clue as to what was considered fashionable.

As for Mya’s suggestion of something of silk and lace for them both to enjoy…well, the idea had appeal but he liked her just fine in her cotton shifts and even better without a stitch on. What would she like? Striding over to the fabric, his eyes landed on a spool of fine ivory lace. Her lacy drawers were very nice but she had said they weren’t terribly practical. There were many things a lady might do with some lace though, he supposed.

“Hello, Mr. Snow. What brings you to town?” a voice inquired just as he was fingering the delicate material.

He turned to find Mr. Baratheon there and shook hands with him. They discussed the upcoming holiday, the purpose of his trip into town and his nuptials.

“Loras told me of the wedding. Allow me to offer my congratulations to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baratheon.”

“Please, call me Renly.”

The pair of men talked for a bit longer before Loras soon appeared.

“I thought you was staying back at the ranch,” Jon said, his brow furrowing.

He didn’t like for more than one of the men to be gone at a time even though there’d been no further trouble beyond poor Redfort’s sorry ass coming out last week. He’d behaved himself all through services on Sunday at least and when Mya had taken Micah back from his lap and bid him a good rest of his Sunday, he’d not voiced one complaint…only looked like a kicked dog.

But Ramsay was out of jail and Pod had passed along the rumors from town that he’d quarreled with his daddy again and quite violently this time. Roose Bolton had reportedly cut his son off for good and Ramsay had no job to fall back on. It worried Jon since desperate men grew even more desperate in winter. He hoped he'd go hop a train...or wind up on the wrong end of a gun. 

“I said that so you’d go on but figured I’d ride into town and rescue you,” Loras said with a merry gleam in his eye.

“Rescue me?”

“You need to buy your lady gift and Mya said you were quite at sea over what to get.”

That was the truth. “I do and I am but you don’t have to go to any trouble…”

Loras tutted at him as if he was offended by that. Renly joined in, commenting on what Jon had found. “The lace is quite lovely. Did you have some use in mind for it?”

“Um…well, she’s got some pretty lace napkins. The pattern looks similar from what I can recall. I don’t know if she’d want to make some more from it or she could make anything she likes of it, I reckon. What do you fellas think?”

Both men nodded. “That’s a fine idea, Jon, but I’m sure you’ll want to gift your bride-to-be with something else. Let’s go and look at rings, shall we?”

“Rings? All three of us?”

“Why not?”

A short time later, Jon bid the pair adieu and walked over to the Smoking Log. He patted his pocket, very pleased by the ring they’d found and hoped Sansa would like it when he slipped it on her finger tomorrow. He was also carrying the spool of lace wrapped in brown paper that he’d give her tonight. He had a couple of dollars left to his name at the moment and had an idea for what to spend it on. 

“Hey, Brienne,” he said in greeting before placing his order.

"I've got a bottle in the back you can buy off me. Did you want a drink?"

"Nah, the syrup's all I can afford." 

Brienne shook her head at him and pulled a bottle of her best whiskey out from under the counter. "You're getting married tomorrow and it's almost Christmas so this one's on the house." The two of them discussed the wedding and he showed her the ring. “Oh, Jon…that’s really lovely,” she said of the silver band engraved with wildflowers.

"Thank you. I hope she'll like it."

Brienne's smile became pinched the next moment when the doors to the saloon swung open and Jon heard a great bellowing. “There's my Little Snow!”

“Lord, help,” Brienne muttered, hurrying to the back storeroom with the excuse of fetching his purchase.

Jon chuckled to himself. Having heard the tales from Pod, he was well aware of how Tormund had taken a shine to the owner of the Smoking Log. He also knew from years of acquaintance that Tormund lacked any subtly at all. If it were any other man, he’d tell him to forget it but Tormund could be not only tenacious but pitifully inclined to pining hopelessly long after any other man would've given up. At least, Brienne seemed capable of holding her own against the man's clumsy flirtations.

“Hello, Tormund. Merry Christmas to you.”

“Merry Christmas to you!” his friend cried, grasping his firmly by the shoulders before kissing him on the cheeks.

“What in the hell, Tormund?!” he shouted, leaping away from the great bear of a man.

“Har! The boss told us to knock off early today. I’m in festive spirits already, you see!” He pulled out his flask and winked. “But what’s this I hear of a wedding for you? You weren’t getting hitched to that beautiful boss of yours without me there, now were you?”

It was hard to look at those pleading eyes and say that yes, he was most certainly thinking of getting married without him there. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He hoped Sansa wouldn’t mind…or Brienne.

“Yeah, I was gonna tell you about that. In fact, I, uh...” He'd not asked anyone at the ranch being as it'd be hard to choose one over another and Tormund had known him the longest of anyone here. "I reckon I could use a friend to stand up with me tomorrow if you're inclined." 

Brienne made her way back from the storeroom with the bottle for Sansa and found Tormund a wailing mess in his joy over his Little Snow getting hitched and him to be part of the ceremony. 

"Don't get your slobbering spittle or tears on my bar," she said though without much censure when another man joined them. “Hello, Edd. You doing alright?”

Jon glanced at the stranger with an appraising eye. Shorter than him with a thin, dour face and greying hair, his coat was patched and he wore a grubby handkerchief around his neck. There was still no mistaking the look of a man who knew his way around a gun and he had two Colts strapped to him same as Jon did. He was no miner. Maybe a cowhand. Maybe somebody's hired gun. But if Brienne was friendly with him then he probably wasn't a blowhard or a chiseler.

“I’m as good as anyone can be when it’s colder than a witch’s tit and work won’t let a man take his ease.”

“So close to Christmas, too,” Brienne said sympathetically, pouring him a drink.

“Exactly,” the man said, tossing it back without a sigh. He gestured at Tormund who was quietly weeping now. “What’s with him?”

“His friend’s getting married,” Brienne said, jerking her thumb towards Jon. “He’s worked himself into a fit over it.”

The man’s lips quirked into a grin. “Shouldn’t you be the one crying?” he asked Jon.

Jon’s mouth fell open for half a second but he chuckled when he realized the man was only joking. “No, I consider myself the luckiest of men.”

“Oh well, luck’s never been a friend of mine but I’ll shake hands with you and wish you well, mister…”

“Jon Snow,” he said, accepting the proffered hand.

“Edd Tollett. I'll buy you a drink in celebration of your upcoming joy.”

Pleased by his new acquaintance and feeling joyful in general, he happily agreed and the two of them fell into a discussion of general things. The two drams of whiskey left him feeling right sociable and Jon couldn't help talking of Sansa naturally who Edd said he'd met a time or two. 

He did not miss the admiring way Edd said, "So, you're marrying Mrs. Tyrell? She's dreadfully pretty."

He was plum swelled with pride as he concurred, "She is and a great deal more than that." 

They continued discussing the Golden Rose and places Jon had been until Brienne turned the conversation back to Edd. Admittedly, Jon had allowed himself to run on more than was his custom and he asked about Edd's mentioned trouble at work.

“Some crooks robbed Doc Luwin last night.” Jon’s ears perked up. He wasn’t sure how Edd’s work had much to do with the doctor getting robbed. “There was only a little cash on hand but they stole his laudanum.”

“Some opium eater maybe?” Jon asked as something was niggling at him.

“Maybe.”

“Was he hurt?” Brienne asked.

“Nah, Doc was out at the Glover place. Mrs. Glover gave birth to a fine baby boy, he said.”

“That’s good news.”

“Say, Edd," Jon asked as a sickening dread started filling him. "What do you do exactly?”

"Me? Oh, I'm one of Karstark's deputies.”

Edd tipped his hat and pulled back his coat. Jon saw the silver star on his chest and his throat closed up. His heart started thundering away as he was overtook with a reckless panic.

“You alright, Jon?” Brienne asked.

“Yeah, uh…I’m sorry but I got to head back to the ranch. I forgot there’s something else I need to do and don’t wanna be late for supper.”

“Getting on her bad side right before the wedding wouldn’t be wise. Of course, it’s probably exactly what I would do,” Edd said dryly while slapping his back in a friendly way.

He jumped from the feel of the man's hand on him. He couldn’t even appreciate the humor. He wanted to vomit. What was he doing? What all had he said? Had he mentioned Kansas specifically? 

_We were just talking. Nothing will come of it. I'm nobody. I'm nothing to him. _

_You're the man marrying Sansa. Folks will notice you. _

He hoped he was wrong to be so nervous but the whole way home he was thinking on the past. What would happen to Sansa or any children they had if the past ever came for him and things didn't go his way? And what right did he have to marry her when he couldn’t even speak to a stranger in a saloon without fear of being discovered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Christmas Eve and Christmas for our couple and the ranch with a slight time jump to late January by the end of it, I think. Thank you for reading :)


	19. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve brings some worries, some memories from the past and also some cheer. Jon and Sansa marry the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @sweetaprilbutterfly for this beautiful pic set :)

* * *

The house was filled with the merry sound of Beth playing carols on the old piano in the background of jovial conversation and the smell of freshly-baked pie. But someone was missing from the gathering, the one person with whom Sansa most wanted to share her Christmas Eve. Under the darkening sky, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and set off towards the barn where Pod had said he’d last seen Jon, letting the crunch of the snow beneath her boots keep her company as she walked. 

He’d ridden into town today saying he had a few purchases to make, playfully nipping at her nose when she’d asked if he was getting something for her and telling her she’d have to be patient and find out. She’d been abuzz with excitement at the thought of a gift. It had been a long while since anyone had bought something specifically for her. And though Willas’ gifts had often been costly, they were usually purchased without a great deal of thought about the things she truly enjoyed. 

She knew Jon had returned over an hour ago. Licorice had already been led to his stall and rubbed down but Jon had not come up to the house as expected with the others. She had to admit it worried her. They were getting married tomorrow after church. Was he just having a little bout of nerves or was this something more serious?

The relative warmth of the barn was welcome after the short but cold trip from the house. He was sitting on the milking stool next to Bessie whittling when she entered. She’d heard his voice just before she’d pushed the barn door open and would’ve sworn he’d been talking to Ghost and the cow. 

He raised his eyes to meet hers, some guilt in evidence despite the tender smile he gave her. 

“It’s getting late. I didn't ring the bell but supper’s ready.”

“I apologize for keeping everyone waiting. I’m afraid I lost track of time.” 

“No one seems to mind the delay and the beefsteak can sit for a spell. It’s easily done out here, losing track of time. Animals can be preferable company to people sometimes. Bessie listens without interrupting and Ghost will always take your part in any debate.”

His abashed grin was infectious. “Between Bessie and the boys, I think the boys might smell only slightly better but don’t tell ‘em I said as much. I also think Ghost might take your part over mine upon occasion but otherwise, I’ll agree. All the same, I hope you know I don’t prefer anyone’s company to yours no matter how many legs they have,” he told her. Ghost lifted his head and Jon gave him a pat. “Pretend you didn’t hear that, boy.” She was giggling as he held out his handiwork. When she took it into her hands, her heart lurched at his sweetness. “It’s almost done but I wanna smooth it over some so he won’t get a splinter.”

He’d carved a little dog figure out of pine as a gift for Micah, a dog that was meant to be Ghost, she knew. 

“He’ll love it.” _But we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t chew on it,_ she silently told herself. Nearing one and a half, he did still teethe something fierce at times. 

He shrugged, taking it back to continue carefully working off any rough edges. “I didn’t know what else a little one would want. He’s getting too big for a rattle but too small for his own horse just yet.”

“Is that the range for little boys? Rattles to horses?” she teased.

“Well, maybe a boy might like a rocky horse first or a wooden rifle when he was three or thereabouts.”

She shook her head. “Too soon for a rifle, even a wooden one.”

“Not a rifle then. A ball and stick or a hoop maybe?”

“That would do.” 

“And what would a little girl want?”

“The same perhaps. A rope for jumping and maybe a doll, too. Depends on the child,” she replied, thinking of herself and her sister. She settled on a bale of hay, watching him finish the figure to his satisfaction and enjoying the deep, soothing timbre of his voice as they spoke. 

“Renly had a mess of oranges brought in from California for the hotel. He sent two dozen to share with everyone.” He pointed to the sack sitting nearby. 

“Oh, that was kind of him! I’ve not had oranges at Christmas in years.” 

She rose to count them up, pleased beyond measure at the thought of fresh citrus and the marmalade she could make from the rest. She lifted one to her nose to inhale, overcome with the heady, nearly exotic fragrance of the fruit and the Christmas memories of her youth it brought about. 

Jon was watching her, a wistful longing in his eyes. “I’m surprised Loras didn’t bring these back when he returned earlier,” she said, carefully setting the orange back down and hoping this might be an opening for whatever was troubling him. 

“Loras had already left when I ran into Renly on my way back out of town and he recalled having them. He invited me in to see the hotel. It’s the fanciest place I ever been inside of.”

“I’ll have to see it sometime.” Fancy hotels were not the trouble and she wished for some way to get him to open up without her having to ask it of him. _You know the man you are marrying though and you know his ways_. “Who else did you see in town?”

“Brienne…and Tormund. I hope you don’t mind but I asked Tormund to stand up with me tomorrow.”

Part of her nervousness evaporated. If he was speaking of asking Tormund to stand up with him, he was not having any doubts about the wedding. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“I would’ve been hard pressed picking just one of the fellers here.”

“I understand. Mya and Beth will be my bridesmaids as I could not possibly choose between them.” Without warning, a familiar ache filled her with that statement, distracting her from whatever might be troubling Jon. She turned away from the oranges that brought childhood to mind and all the Christmases that had passed since she'd lost them. 

Rising from his stool, he placed one hand at her hip and tilted her chin towards him with the other. “Sansa? What’s wrong, darling?”

“Is it as plain upon my face as that?”

“Of course, it is. I love you and it hurts me to see you hurting.”

“It hurts me as well when the shoe is on the other foot, especially when you will not speak of it.”

“I ain’t hurting.” She raised her eyebrows. “Not really…but I will tell you what’s on my mind. I met someone else in town today. Edd Tollett, one of Karstark’s deputies. I didn’t know he was a deputy until we’d been talking a spell. He seemed like a nice feller, like someone I could see being friends with but when he told me what he was, I kind of froze up and had to leave.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her temple. “It gave me an uncomfortable chill. I don’t like being wanted, being afraid to meet folks or tell strangers my name. I don’t want to bring you any shame either, Sansa. I don’t want anyone ever coming between us and what we have.”

What could she say to that? She understood his fears quite well. If time alone in the barn whittling and talking to Ghost and maybe Bessie was his way of handling things, so be it. 

“I will never feel shame over calling you my husband and, while I understand your worries, I would only beg you to share them with me openly always. I find my strength in you when I am troubled. I hope you may find it in me.”

He nodded. “My bride is very wise and I do find much strength in you. I’ve lived many years having only myself to cast accounts with but I need to remember things are different and not hide my troubles from my wife.”

“I knew I was marrying a smart man." He chuckled. "I’ve only met Deputy Tollett once or twice but he seems like a reasonable sort. Was he one of the men Tormund mentioned to you?” Jon had told her about Tormund saying how some of Karstark’s men harassed the miners. 

“I don’t know but Tormund didn’t act like he knew him. Of course, he was crying at the time.”

“Crying?”

“He can get emotional over things. Apparently, me getting married is one of those things.”

She laughed as he pulled her close. “I told you what was troubling me. Can you tell me of your hurt just now?” 

She sighed and knew the pain would lessen with the sharing. “I cannot have my sister by my side tomorrow. My father will not walk me down the aisle. My mother will not sit on the first pew and cry happy tears for me. My brothers will not harass my groom.” She told the tears forming in her eyes they could just go ahead and dry back up. Tonight and tomorrow were going to be joyful times. They didn’t listen so well. 

“Sansa,” he said, his face crumpled with misery on her behalf. “If there were any way for me to…”

“No, don't feel so sad as that. The same was true at my first wedding but everything is different now. I am marrying a man that I love this time. Though I mourn Arya, I will be glad of the two sisters I have found here who are to be by my side. Rodrik will proudly escort me down the aisle, a good, kind man who I admire and have leaned on many times when I have been in need of counsel. And, I fully expect the boys and Loras to be annoying you at some point." She could not speak of her missing mother. There was no one to fill the role and her heart accepted that. Jon's mother would be absent as well. She pulled his hand between them, tracing the calluses on his palm with her fingertips. "Tomorrow, we marry. It will be the wedding of my dreams, the dreams we carry now.”

His eyes were wet with unshed tears. They clung to his long lashes like melted snowflakes but his smile rivaled the rising sun. “I love you with all my heart.” 

“I love you.”

“If we ever have a daughter, would you want…”

Oh, how her poor heart had pined for such a dear man and now she had him. “We’ll name her Arya,” she declared, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

“She can have her adventures, climb those mountains you spoke of…as long as she doesn’t mind her daddy tagging along to watch over her.”

She laughed and shook her head at him. “Our supper’s getting cold, Mr. Snow.”

He only held her tighter. “Do you really think they’ll miss us?”

“I think they will though they’ll understand that the soon-to-be-married couple are having a moment alone…in a barn with a cow and a dog.” 

He joined her in her laughter. “In that case, they may I’m taking the opportunity to tumble my bride in the hayloft.”

Mortified over what Mya might say in front of everyone, her laughter died on the spot. “We can't have them thinking...we must return to the house at once.”

“Oh no, ma’am. I kinda like my idea now that I’ve said it.” He gave her hand a gentle tug. His smile was wicked and that playful, pleading look far too tempting to resist. 

“Ghost and Bessie…”

“Are animals as you pointed out earlier. They will be unconcerned by what we do in the loft,” he told her, grabbing up a spare horse blanket. The wool would be awfully scratchy on her back. He caged her between his arms and the ladder, leaning forward slowly with intent that made her pulse thrum. 

Just as his lips brushed hers, a sauciness took her. “How many girls have you tumbled in haylofts, Jon Snow?” She could giggle at his sheepish expression. 

“Will my answer impact whether or not you’ll climb up there with me?” 

"Are you planning to lie to me?"

"I won't lie to you but I am awfully concerned the truth might land me in trouble here on Christmas Eve when I've tried to be a good boy all year."

She tapped at her chin thoughtfully as if she was considering it before shaking her head. “It will not. Tell me.” They were to be married. There would be things that went unsaid but they did not wish to keep secrets from each other either. 

“Only one girl and, being as I was just shy of sixteen at the time and barely knew pillar from post, I’d argue she tumbled me more than the other way around.”

She laughed and plucked his hat from his head, putting it on just before she ducked under his arm, making it so he was the one between the ladder and herself. “We're going to be late for supper but good boys and girls get presents on Christmas Eve, don't they?"

"Yes, they do."

"Climb up to the loft, Jon, and prepare to be tumbled again.” 

“A very Merry Christmas for me then." 

* * *

Walking in a disgraceful number of minutes later after their wanton tumble in the hayloft, Sansa felt quite conspicuous but Mya said not a word of her pinkened cheeks. She probably thought the cold had painted them. And no one appeared to notice the way Sansa was forced to shift and adjust her skirts throughout supper. She was very conscious of the effects of gravity on the remainder of Jon’s seed within her and the devilishly knowing looks he’d shoot her way between bites of pie suggested he suspected the source of all her fluttery movements, the wicked man. 

At least, she didn’t appear to be in a constant state of needing a good backscratching like him since the coarse wool of the horse blanket had never touched her back. _Just my knees_. Those were a somewhat raw but she’d hardly complain. 

And so, Christmas Eve passed most happily with the nine human and lone canine residents of the ranch gathered around the fireplace in the parlor after supper, exchanging stories and little gifts, sharing laughter and cups of cheer. 

As much as she had been pleased by the oranges, Sansa was even more pleased by the bottle of lemon syrup Jon had purchased from Brienne. “So you can have lemonade whenever it suits you, darling. It’s not much but…” She shushed his demurring with a kiss. 

While Jon was busy admiring the new leather gloves with lambswool lining she’d purchased him, his being sadly worn through and thin for winter, Loras read a telegram he’d received from his sister, sending her tidings of joy to them both. 

“‘I had hoped to call Sansa my sister again but please pass along my felicitations for her upcoming wedding [STOP] Granny says to inform you that I met with one of the Fossoway girls the other day in town [STOP] She has grown up quite pretty…’ God, help me. Am I supposed to go back east now and marry her?” Loras lamented, not sounding remotely serious.

“Did she really put all that in a telegram?!” Jon asked, no doubt astounded that she’d spend a small fortune on a telegram to convey such drivel. 

“She most certainly did.” 

“Shall I write to your sister and tell her to tell Granny that you decided to head further west?”

“Or tell her I left with a group of Mormons for the Utah territory and plan to have three wives by the new year, all of them quite pretty and heiresses in their own right.”

The three of them shared a laugh over that before Loras made his excuses, saying he would see them at church in the morning but he had plans to visit with his friend and, since they might stay up late with their cards, he would take a room at the hotel for the night. 

Their own presents opened, Wex and Pod raced to the stables with her good china bowl filled to the brim with sugar cubes, intent on giving every horse a treat. The bowl was returned empty and she suspected the boys had enjoyed their share of the cubes. She admonished them to apply their tooth powder to their brushes tonight and do a thorough job. 

“Only wooden teeth grow on trees and you don’t want those, do you?”

Wex’s nod and Pod’s ‘no, ma’am’ were more appreciative than exasperated and she embraced both of them before bidding them goodnight. _The little brothers I have chosen,_ she thought with a pang that only lingered along the fringes of her heart. 

“Where am I laying my head tonight, darling?” Jon asked once they were alone. 

Never one to assume even though he would be her husband by this time tomorrow and even though they’d had their time in the hayloft a couple of hours earlier, he would allow her tonight in her bed alone if she preferred. She did not prefer that. She'd come to the decision from their very first night together that she liked having someone beside her at night. 

“In here with me I hope.”

“That suits me fine. The sheets will be welcome after that horse blanket.”

“That they will,” she said, removing the pins from her hair. 

Ordinarily, Jon could not keep from crossing the room and touching her as soon as her hair was down. He claimed it was a magnetic force which she’d liked thinking she had that sort of pull on him. But he did not come to her like usual. Instead, she heard the soft crinkle of paper behind her and turned to find him holding something in his hands. 

“Lemonade is dandy but I got something else for you.”

She bit her lip, more pleased than she could say even before she knew what he’d bought as she untied the string around the parcel. She then gasped over the exquisite spool of ivory lace. 

“Jon, it’s beautiful and…” She could barely speak. “It seems to…” She left him where he stood, rushing to the hutch in her dining room where she kept her mama’s napkins. 

He found her crying over them, a very silly thing to do on Christmas Eve when her heart was so full and happy but something she couldn’t seem to help.

“I hope those are some of your happy tears.”

“They are but also bittersweet. Don’t fret though. Life has its moments both bitter and sweet like lemonade and your gift has touched me more deeply than I can express.”

“I’m glad to know it. Does it match?”

“It’s not identical. It would be nothing short of a miracle if it did considering how tricky the making of lace is. But it is near enough and my four napkins will have eight more to join them soon.”

“Eight? Why do we need twelve lacy napkins, darling?”

“‘Cause.”

“‘Cause why?”

“Just ‘cause,” she said with a sly grin that had him grinning in response. _Maybe someday it will take that many to fill every lap in this house. _“I can’t believe you bought the entire spool.”

He scratched his whiskers, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I don’t know nothing about lace. I wasn’t sure how much you’d need or what you might wish to make of it for sure though the napkins were what made me think of purchasing it.”

“I’ll enjoy finding uses for all of it.” She was already daydreaming about trimming up a couple of her dresses, making something for Beth and a pretty topping for her sideboard...or adorning a swaddling gown and cap with wisps of it someday. “For tomorrow, I’ll use a swath of it to be my veil.”

“A veil for my bride, huh?” he asked, moving closer, the heat and proximity of his body causing that stirring low in her belly once more. He started touching her hair, using his fingers to comb through it. 

“Yes, Mr. Snow. And once you lift it, you may kiss her.”

“That sounds mighty fine but I’m gonna kiss her right now if she’ll allow.”

“She’ll allow,” she said, tilting her neck and puckering her lips in eager anticipation. 

* * *

The small assembly had gathered, or remained behind after the service if they’d attended it, a dozen in all and that was just fine. Far more witnesses than she’d had for her first wedding and she would gladly name everyone of them a friend. 

Sansa breathed in and out in the small vestibule behind the last row of pews to settle her quivery nerves as she heard the reverend giving Jon and Tormund instructions in his carrying voice at the front of the church. 

Reverend Chayle had officiated at her other wedding which had taken place within thirty minutes of her setting foot in Silverhill. Margaery wouldn’t have said such a thing to her and, once she’d got to know Willas, she wouldn’t have thought it of him but a few other girls back east had warned her of the fate of some mail order brides. They’d told her it was wisest to be married straight away so a man could not take his pleasure with the promise of matrimony only to cast the girl aside on some pretext before the deed was done.

Despite being hot and rumpled from her travels, she’d told Willas she preferred to be a married woman when she set foot on the Golden Rose for the first time and he had not objected. Half frightened to death but determined, she’d allowed him to take her arm and head straight from the train station to the church. The words from the reverend’s mouth had passed in a blur and the dry peck of a kiss at the end had done nothing to stir a young girl’s heart but she’d been Mrs. Tyrell by the time she walked out of this place the first time and climbed into the wagon to view her new home. 

_And today I will be Mrs. Snow. _

Drawn from her reflections, she became aware that Mya was picking at her veil and bun intently. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for any stray bits of hay,” Mya answered with a wink. 

“There’s no hay in my hair,” she whispered.

“Not this morning anyway. I reckon it gets boring in that barn for Bessie. Glad y’all decided to liven things up for the old girl some what with it being Christmas and all.” 

“Mya!” Heat flooded Sansa’s cheeks but she couldn’t help giggling. She couldn’t _stop_ giggling either. 

Rodrik walked up to the pair of them, grinning at their giggles. “You ready, Sansa? I think Mrs. Flint’s fixin' to play your tune on that piano.”

“I’m ready.” 

“You look pretty as a picture but then you always were,” he told her, his cheeks growing red under his white whiskers.

“Thank you, Rodrik.”

She felt pretty, too. Nothing ostentatious, her dress was still appropriate for her status as a landowner and the finest she owned. The pale blue silk dress with some ivory lace added to the sleeves late last night to match her veil was lovely but not too showy for a rancher’s wife. 

She wore her mother’s pearl earbobs and Beth had helped her style her hair. There were no fresh flowers to be had this time of year so she carried some pine boughs with a sprig of holly in the center, wrapped in a bit of the brown paper that had held her lace and then carefully bound with a burgundy silk ribbon borrowed from Beth. 

The girl, thrilled by the romance of the day, had recited the old poem this morning during their preparations. _“Something old-your mother’s the earbobs, something new-the lace from Jon, something borrowed-this ribbon of mine and something blue-your lovely dress.” _

The piano began to play and Sansa allowed Rodrik to escort her down to her groom. She saw Wex and Pod in the pews, standing next to Brienne and her elderly father. Dr. Luwin had come and was sitting beside Loras and Mr. Baratheon. Mychel was there, holding his son and shooting besotted looks at Mya who walked ahead of her wearing her favorite red calico dress. Beth was wearing her mother’s yellow sateen gown which she'd been carefully altering the past several nights and had weaved another of strand of her burgundy silk ribbon through her curls. Sansa grinned to herself at the way Pod’s throat bobbed as he stared at Beth when she walked past him. 

But at the front of the church, Jon waited and her throat may have bobbed as well at the sight of him. He was wearing his best clothes, the same he’d worn the night of the dance. His handsome face broke into a smile when their eyes met. 

Tormund was beside him in his miner’s dungarees, all he had to wear no doubt but his face was clean today and he was already wiping away tears, clearly delighted for them both. Clearly, a kindred spirit when it came to happy tears. 

It was an easy thing to do; walk to the front of a room, listen to some words and repeat back some of them when instructed. As easy as posting a letter, a man and woman could find themselves bound to each other for life. It still passed in a blur in some respects just like her first wedding had but the emotions were far different.

There was a quavering note in their voices as they repeated their vows but those were only nerves brought on by the occasion, not doubts over what they felt for each other. Jon’s hands trembled as he slipped a silver band on her finger when prompted. Her eyes widened, realizing he had not used her mother's band as she'd expected. He must've done this yesterday, too. She sighed with happiness, her eyes flitting between the ring and his face. Tiny wildflowers were engraved upon the silver. It suited her, suited the man giving it to her and suited her life here in Silverhill just perfectly, she thought. 

"I love it," she mouthed silently and his relieved grin was probably the sweetest one she'd seen yet. 

And when the reverend declared them man and wife and Jon lifted her veil, cupping her face with loving tenderness as he kissed his wife, she could not have been happier and she knew no other man could stir her heart and soul so strongly with single, chaste kiss as a crowd of onlookers cheered them...even when Tormund noisily blew his nose and felt free to sob unrestrainedly in his joy for his Little Snow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little reception at the Smoking Log Saloon next chapter for the wedding party and Jon has a little wedding night surprise for Sansa before I move things along.
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you continuing to follow this story!


	20. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa celebrate their wedding at the Smoking Log Saloon but there's a little trouble stirring in town before Jon surprises his bride with wedding night plans.

“To the happy couple!” Loras cried, lifting his glass as everyone in the room repeated those words before doing the same. Jon finished his dram before turning to his bride, enjoying the flush on her cheeks as she sipped her champagne.

As it was Christmas, Brienne’s saloon was closed for business but it was not sitting empty. The Smoking Log was hosting a private party in honor of Silverhill’s newest newlyweds. Unfortunately, more and more of the townsfolk seemed drawn to join in the revels regardless of whether or not they’d been invited (in hopes of free whiskey perhaps) and Jon had shook more hands in the past hour than he’d probably shaken in his lifetime.

At present, he was sincerely looking forward to carrying Sansa away to start their wedding night a little early. _It’ll be nightfall before long anyhow. Days are at their shortest this time of year._ For now, he was capable of being patient. He took a peak at the large clock ticking behind the bar. It was a little past noon. _Goddammit._

_I can be a little patient anyway,_ he thought next as he gazed at Sansa in her beautiful blue silk dress…and imagined taking it off of her. _She’d probably have my hide if I tore it._ Would it be worth the risk of his bride’s displeasure so soon after they’d said their ‘I do’s?’

He was prevented from posing such a question in her ear though by a hearty slap on the back. He found Tormund by his side, his blue eyes still red-rimmed from his bawling during the wedding and plenty bleary already from his homebrew.

Speaking of which, he was holding up his lucky silver flask and swaying where he stood. “Go’on now, Little Snow. This ‘ere’s a lucky drink for a bridegroom in my lucky flask,” Tormund slurred happily.

“Lucky, huh? You gonna start selling it like snake oil, Tormund?”

“Share my granpappy’s special recipe with just anyone? Hell, no. But this can cure a cough or bless a marriage as easy as kiss my hand. Now, quit tryin’ to beat the devil around the stump and bend the elbow, boy!”

Jon sighed inwardly but held out his glass, knowing he’d have to swig it quick to keep from spluttering and choking all over his best clothes. He’d had three drams of whiskey already, too. It was a good thing there’d be food soon, provided by Renly from his hotel’s restaurant.

But he was grateful, very grateful for his friend. Through thick and thin, he knew he could count on Tormund if he was ever in a tight spot. And when he’d asked him if he had a couple of reliable friends from the miner’s camp who’d be willing to forego their holiday celebrating for a few hours (and a little compensation of course) to watch over the ranch while everyone was away for the wedding this morning, he’d come through with half a dozen and even handed back the money Jon had offered.

_“Keep your dollars for setting up house and such, Little Snow. The boys at the camp, we’re a tightknit bunch and looks after each other and each other’s own and you’re surly one of my own,”_ he’d told him outside the church.

Jon wasn’t so big on those happy tears as Sansa and Tormund but he’d been right touched by the big man’s words.

He closed one eye and tipped his glass back, telling himself the burn was worth Tormund’s smile and Sansa’s amusement. _And besides, you had a swig of it the night you kissed Sansa the first time at the dance so maybe his talk of luck ain’t all hogwash._

But no sooner had he survived his ordeal, Tormund was holding out his flask again. “Oh, no. One shot of your brew’s enough luck for any man.”

“Nah, not you. You wanna try it, Mrs. Snow? It’s lucky for a bride as well as her groom. It’ll keep the chill off when you leave the saloon too until your husband can get you back out of the wind.”

Jon shook his head at Tormund, assuming Sansa wouldn’t wish to trade her champagne for the potent shine. He assumed incorrectly.

“Whether inside or outside, I have every confidence my husband can keep me quite warm,” she said, shooting a heated look his way. _Holy hell_. “But, being as you’re the first person to address me as Mrs. Snow, I will gladly partake of some of your drink, Mr. Giantsbane.”

Jon watched in fascination of his woman as Tormund filled her champagne glass to the brim. Other than the night they’d shared the news of their marriage, the dance and today, Sansa normally only drank spirits for medicinal purposes. Feeling half a boy who was eagerly watching a friend attempt something foolhardy, he was grinning from ear to ear when she raised the glass to her lips and took a delicate sip.

Her smile didn’t waver at first but he could see it in her eyes when it hit. “Oh, that’s…”

A strangled cough escaped before she could help it and her eyes were a brighter blue as they started to water. She didn’t choke and splutter though. She laid her hand upon her chest, probably wondering if the burn would ever cease and if her sense of taste had been destroyed forever. She daintily held her nose next to finish the rest in a single gulp. She smacked her lips and set her glass down.

“That’s…goodness, that’s mighty strong.” She made a wheezy sound as she breathed in and out and ruthlessly smothered a belch before smiling again. “Thank you for the drink, sir.”

Jon was chuckling and Tormund was pleased as punch. “Har! She’s a good ‘un, Little Snow! Don’t go fouling things up with a gal like this!”

“I don’t meant to.”

Tormund thumped Sansa heartily on the back to express his admiration once more before mentioning that he meant to offer some of his brew to Brienne.

“You alright, darling?”

“I am still standing at the moment,” she whispered in his ear, “but if I have any more to drink after that godawful libation, you’ll be carrying me out of here.”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

Despite his saucy grin, Sansa had not taken the bait and an hour later, the celebrating was still going on. Surprisingly, Jon wasn’t all that upset about it, especially now that he was pleasantly full of food.

Loras and Renly were playing cards with Wex. The boy was busy plucking them clean.

Doc Luwin and Mr. Tarth were deep in a discussion about the old man’s lungs. Jon had asked the doc about the theft from a few days back but he’d not seemed too concerned. He said having laudanum on hand carried its risks but he’d be sure to keep it locked up from now on.

Rodrik was having a talk with Brienne and Tormund at the bar. Both had tried Tormund’s brew and seemed no worse for wear. “We’ll be heading home before long to relieve your friends and Ghost,” Jon heard Rodrik telling Tormund.

Leaving the ranch unmanned was not something any of them wished to do what with the trouble after the dance. The Frey boys had confessed and been punished but something about the matter didn’t sit right with Jon. Seemed like there might be something else to it. However, he wouldn’t be going home tonight and neither would Sansa. She just didn’t know it yet.

Pod had asked to try Tormund’s brew. He was presently propped up in a corner, humming to himself. Beth was fussing over him, telling him he should be ashamed at being inebriated on Christmas, but when Pod told her she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in her yellow dress with the ribbon in her hair, she stopped her fussing and didn’t seem sure quite what to do as she flushed and took a seat beside him.

Meanwhile, Edd Tollett had turned up. Brienne had mentioned inviting him as he had no one really to spend the day with. Jon knew what that was like having been in similar circumstances a few months back with the exception of Ghost, so he told himself not to allow his old fears make him behave churlishly on his wedding day. He’d welcomed the deputy and invited him to come and share some apple pie with him and his bride. He was very likable in spite of being something of a croaker. In fact, his dour humor was quite amusing and who’d have thought Jon could be having such a grand time just talking when he had a beautiful bride waiting to be bedded?

“When we getting out of here?” she whispered at one point when Edd was speaking with Tormund and Brienne.

“Are you eager, darling?”

“Aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

A couple of doves from the Peach joined the party. Whether they had hopes of drumming up a little business on a slow day or were just wanting to enjoy themselves, they were welcomed by Brienne who apparently took in all manner of strays. Soon, one was playing the piano as the other sang a tune and there was dancing at their wedding reception. Jon twirled Sansa around the floor once and then asked if the girl playing knew a waltz. She did and Sansa’s eyes were aswim with tears when he asked for his long-overdue lesson.

“I don’t blame you for crying in fear of your poor toes,” he said in jest. He didn’t want her crying any more tears on their wedding day, even her happy tears.

“I will not cry at all. I would just like to say my husband is everything I could hope for,” she replied with a sweetness that warmed him in a way Tormund’s liquor never could.

Regrettably, they had an audience as their well-wishers made a little square to watch the newlyweds dance. But even fumbling his way along, Jon did not care. He held his wife and let her lead him through the steps of his first waltz.

* * *

  
As the reception was starting to break up with only a few folks singing carols around the piano, Jon stepped outside to breathe in some fresher air, watching a few stray snowflakes swirl through the breeze. Sansa was inside talking with Brienne and unaware that the bulk of the wedding party was leaving them as Tormund followed Rodrik and the wagon heading back to the ranch.

Loras and Renly had slipped off somewhere but Jon knew Renly would be awaiting their arrival nearby soon and Loras would be returning to the ranch tonight.

He paced up and down the boards of the saloon’s porch, coming to a stop when he saw the four nails that had been hammered into the side months ago with a scrap of yellowed paper still attached to one of them. He smiled to himself, fingering that little edge and calling the advertisement to mind: _Experienced Ranch Hand Wanted._ Could he ever put into words how glad he was he’d noticed the sign that day? _Not likely._

Voices drew him from his memories. Mya had handed Micah off to Beth to return to the ranch. She was currently talking with Mychel Redfort at the far end of the saloon’s porch. They’d passed a pleasant if slightly strained day together but Jon knew Redfort didn’t want their time together to end. If he’d been in his boots with regards to Sansa (not that he’d have been fool enough to leave her in the first place), Jon was sure he would’ve felt the same.

“When can I call on you, Mya?” he asked earnestly, clutching his hat to his chest. “When can I see him again?”

“In a few days,” she answered with that hesitation Jon understood. Her heart had been wounded and, no matter the sweet words a feller might say, it would take her time to trust Redfort enough to try again. “We’ll both be busy with work and such, I’m sure.”

“Will you come to church on Sunday?” he asked next, cautiously taking her hand in his.

“I don’t know. It’s not been a habit of mine to be honest.”

“Mine either.”

The pair shared a brief chuckle over that before Mya looked his way. Jon wondered if he should head back inside to give them their privacy. She subtly shook her head at him. She was telling the man goodnight and she didn’t plan on it being a longwinded thing. And maybe Jon’s presence gave her some courage to get on with it in a way.

Nevertheless, when Redfort reached for her, she let him kiss her and returned the kiss. Jon’s cheeks warmed and he turned away, meaning to stride back in and hopefully pluck his wife away from the carolers at last.

**Bang! Bang!**

Gunshots from down the street made him jump and had his heart hammering against his ribcage the next instant. Whirling in that direction, he reached for his Colts that weren’t there. He’d left them stowed under Brienne’s bar much earlier today, not thinking church and his wedding were suitable places to go armed. He hadn’t reclaimed them yet.

Edd Tollett came rushing past him, his rifle in hand. Jon followed him at once.

There were half a dozen men in the street outside one of the town brothel’s, a shabby looking place, and a couple of women. One of the men present was the sheriff who looked right relieved to see Edd coming his way. And the man waving a gun around, though pointed skyward, was Ramsay Bolton.

“Just lay the gun down, Ramsay. I know you’re all roostered up but your daddy wouldn’t want you to…”

“You think I give a shit what my daddy wants?! To hell with him!” Ramsay screamed. The next second, he was calm again like the outburst hadn’t happened. He was chuckling and Jon found it disturbing that he could go from one extreme to the next so quick. “I ain’t doing nothing, Karstark. I’m just out here having a bit of fun, celebrating the day.” He pulled the trigger again, shooting up at the snow-laden clouds. “You arresting men for having a drink and a little fun on Christmas now, are you?”

Karstark looked around the gathering crowd which was grumbling slightly as Ramsay’s words. Jon could tell the sheriff was feeling sorely tried by Ramsay and those watching. Men wanted to see how he’d deal with a troublesome drunk. They were curious to see how he’d deal with this troublesome drunk in particular who was the son of one of the wealthiest men in town as well as his friend.

Jon couldn’t feel all that sorry for him but Ramsay was about as welcome as a rattlesnake at a square dance and he wondered how this was going to play out.

Not quite disguising his tremble, Karstark tried again, “Come on and put that gun down, Ramsay. I know you don’t want trouble.”

“Trouble? Why wouldn’t I want trouble? Maybe it’s you that don’t want trouble, Arnolf…you cowardly, bootlicking fuck.”

Jon’s eyes flitted through the crowd again, gaging reactions and seeing if anyone was going to take Ramsay’s part here. _This crowd could go either way_. He took note of the women briefly, girls from the brothel without a doubt.

He had no business here and, the man he was when he’d first rode into Silverhill months ago would’ve turned away to avoid a fight. But this was his home now, his wife’s home, too. What happened in this town was his business to some extent. Plus, Edd was here, waiting on his boss to call the shots. Jon couldn’t readily walk away from Edd.

Ramsay was still muttering to himself as Karstark tried drawing nearer. “Come on, boy, and…”

He shook off Karstark’s outstretched hand. “You don’t want trouble? WELL, YOU GOT TROUBLE!”

He lowered his gun, aiming it at random with his finger closed over the trigger. But before Ramsay could squeeze, Edd had bulled into him from behind, knocking him to the ground. The deputy kicked at the loosened gun to get it out of Ramsay’s reach. Jon leapt into action, diving to retrieve the gun and then wrestling the wild man with Edd, sitting on top of him at last as Edd was hollering for the assembled men to either disperse or come to his aid.

Jon noticed a bottle of liquor had rolled out of Ramsay’s pocket, a brown glass bottle. He sniffed the acrid liquid within and had a feeling that this was some of Doc’s stolen laudanum. Men who chased the Dragon were every bit as dangerous as drunks like Pod’s uncle, especially when they couldn’t get what they wanted. And this man was already mean enough to steal the coin off a dead man’s eyes.

The scuffle ended and the watchers had either stepped forward to help or melted back into the brothel. He helped Edd pull Ramsay to his feet and Jon found himself face to face with him for the first time since the last day of October right after he’d nearly run Sansa down in the street.

“Don’t I know you, cowpoke?” Ramsay asked with a queer little smile.

“Nah. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. You’re better off if we keep it that way so shut your trap.”

Before Ramsay could reply, the other men started jostling the prisoner and Karstark was patting Edd on the back, saying a night to sleep off his drink in a cell was all Ramsay needed.

_He needs a lot more than that,_ Jon thought as he made a study of him. He was down at heel for certain without his daddy propping him up. His clothes were filthy and torn. His eyes were crazed and his breath foul. He was thin and maybe hadn’t eaten too recently. He could almost feel sorry for him. But knowing what he did of the things Ramsay had done and the things he’d been accused of, Jon couldn’t find any pity for the man at all. _He needs more than a night in a cell. A hole in the head would be a good place to start._

And that sentiment was only compounded a few minutes later when Edd and his helpers were marching him down the street towards the jail. Since Edd had matters in hand, no matter how much Karstark pretended he’d handled things, Jon was anxious to return to his bride. Everyone from the Smoking Log had spilled outside its doors to see the spectacle including Sansa. Before Jon could reach her, Ramsay proved he was no good at keeping his trap shut.

“Why, good evening, Mrs. Tyrell!” the devil called cheerily. “My, you look mighty pretty in your dress there! I’m still available if you need any help around that ranch of yours! I’ll call on you one of these days!”

Sansa blanched at the threat and Ramsay was cackling even as Edd gave him a shove and told him to shup up. He never saw Jon’s fist coming for his face.

“Stay down,” Jon snarled at Ramsay. He wasn’t getting up. He might’ve knocked him unconscious.

“What in tarnation?!” Karstark squawked when he turned and saw Ramsay on the ground.

“He must’ve tripped, sheriff,” Edd covered before growling in Jon’s ear, “Go cool off. Take your bride home and go cool the hell off, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” he muttered as the other men were laughing and dragging Ramsay on towards the jail by his arms.

He raised his eyes to meet Sansa’s, wondering if he’d receive a rebuke from her like Edd. It probably wasn’t manners to be punching men on one’s wedding day. But he saw no rebuke, only a furrowed brow and then a faint smile for him.

* * *

“I can’t believe they left us,” she was fussing as he lifted her up to sit side-saddle a while later.

“Must’ve thought we’d want to ride back alone. Are you sorry to be riding back with me on Licorice, darling?”

“Well, no. Not really but my dress…”

“That dress is dreadful pretty on you. It’s a shame it’s getting torn soon.”

“Do you think it’ll tear on the ride?” she asked worriedly.

“No, darling. I was thinking in other ways.”

“You’re wicked, Jon Snow.”

“I am. I’m your wicked husband, wife.”

He mounted behind her, putting his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the layers of her coat, dress and underthings as he shoved the unhappy incident with Ramsay from his mind. That would bear thinking on some other time but for now, he was taking his bride away for their wedding night and that wretch would not spoil their night.

They waved goodbye to Brienne and Edd, who’d returned to see them off after locking Ramsay in his cell. Sansa tossed her bouquet but Brienne made no move to catch it. Instead, one of the doves that had done the piano playing did and grinned widely at Edd…who promptly flushed scarlet.

Licorice made it all of two hundred feet before Jon brought him to a halt in front of The Stag. “Is there something the matter?” she asked as he slid down from the saddle.

“Nope. This is the end of our journey for tonight, is all.”

The smile spreading across her face was one of those that set his heart to thumping like nothing else. “We’re staying here at the hotel? Just us?”

“Well, Renly might have some other guests staying. I can’t say for sure so you’ll have to keep from getting too loud.” Her scandalized look made him laugh. “Anyhow, there’s only two people who’ll be enjoying this hotel’s fanciest suite.”

“Oh, Jon!” she squealed, her hands clasped together as he helped her down from Licorice.

“It was Loras and Renly’s suggestion but I’m quite keen on it. Hope you like the surprise.”

“I love it!”

He gave a few coins to a boy to take the horse around back to see him sheltered for the night and escorted his wife through the door.

“Mr. and Mrs. Snow, I presume,” Renly said with a broad smile before welcoming them in.

The place was certainly the grandest Jon had ever been inside, let alone stayed at. Nevertheless, as Renly was rattling away about the fixtures and marble and such, Jon only had eyes for his bride.

“Shall I show you to your suite then?” Renly smirked.

“Uh…yeah, that’d be most appreciated.”

“If you’re feeling peckish later, ring the bell and I’ll have something sent up. Breakfast is served early but in your case, it can be brought up as well at any time you like. You can stay in bed even and my people will just set the tray inside the door for you.”

They both blushed over Renly’s matter-of-factness but were glad to know they didn’t have to leave their room to eat unless they wanted to.

Renly handed Jon the key outside the suite and bid them a good night. Turning the brass knob, he opened the door and heard Sansa’s gasp. Gleaming dark wood paneling with rich tapestries covered the walls. There was a large, feather bed that dominated the room with mahogany posts and gold stenciling on the headboard. The covers were a soft shade of forest green.

Both of them started to head in before Jon remembered himself. “Hold up, now! Can’t be starting things off the wrong way.” He picked her up before she could do more than yelp and carried her across the threshold with her arms tightening around his neck.

“I love you, husband.”

“I love you, my sweet wife.”

Placing her on her feet once more, they took in the rest of the room. Two armchairs sat by the hearth where a cheery fire already roared. There was a small table with chairs where meals could be taken and a proper dressing room through a doorway.

“My trunk?” she asked, noticing it.

“Yeah, I asked Beth to prepare it. I hope you don’t mind. We’re only here for the night and tomorrow but I wasn’t sure what all a lady might like to have with her.”

“It’s…it’s perfect, Jon.”

“Are you about to cry more of those happy tears, darling?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, don’t yet. There’s another surprise.” He led her through towards the dressing room where Renly had told him it’d be, a massive, clawfoot tub made of porcelain, certainly large enough for two. “We only gotta ring this bell for hot water.”

“Are we taking a bath together, Mr. Snow?”

“We most certainly are, wife.”

Their eyes were locked on each other as Sansa took his hand in hers. “I would like that but first…I believe that bed is calling our names.”

He took a step and she stepped back. He took another and she did the same, right out of his grasp. His eyes narrowed as she shrieked and ran, a little chase. He caught her just as she reached the bed, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her sweet scent. Their laughter over the game quickly became labored breaths of excitement. Tugging at buttons, belts and laces, they undressed one another. _And I didn’t even tear nothing._

Bare and glorious, Sansa laid back on the bed, beckoning him to cover her body with his. He leaned forward and kissed her, hesitant for just an instant before his mouth captured hers more fully. His lips melded into hers with a gentle yet insistent pressure. He licked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him. As his tongue slid into her mouth, he tasted her champagne and the apple pie they’d shared.

He moved his other hand to cradle her head, continuing to kiss her with sweet longing. She was his everything and now she was his wife. He felt himself getting short of breath at the momentousness of that thought.

She moved a hand to his bare shoulder before sliding her tongue into his mouth. He let out a shuddering sound, overcome with his love and desire for her. They stayed there kissing for ages it seemed with their hands never moving past each other’s faces or hair or arms. But when Jon moved his hand down to cup a breast at last, Sansa keened to his touch, rolling her hips and urging him on.

“Touch me, Jon,” she moaned as he kissed her along her jawline.

He moved his hand down lower, covering her mound for a moment before pulling his hand away from the thatch of fiery curls. “You first. Touch yourself, wife." Her mouth formed a little shocked 'O.' It was adorable. "I’d sure like to see you do that.”

She started smirking. “You really are disgracefully wicked.”

“I do not deny it when it comes to you. You shy?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe. You gonna accept?”

“If I’m doing the touching, I guess that just leaves you watching,” she said with a pert look.

“Oh, well…um…”

Sansa giggled at him before sliding her hand down between her legs, running a slim finger along her folds. She sighed and bit her bottom lip as she looked him in the eye. He reached for her and she shook her head, that same pert look. Maybe this wasn’t such a clever idea after all.

“Oh, my…” she cried, arching her back. She shook her head when he tried touching her again and slid her finger inside. “Oh, yes…”

“Holy hell,” he choked out, a desperate groan really, when she lifted her wet finger to his lips.

“Would you like a taste? I’m not sure if it can compare to that apple pie you’re so fond of.”

“Ah, fuck.” She gasped at his coarseness but he was too busy devouring her finger like a starving man, swiping it clean with his tongue. “This is better than any pie. No one else gets to eat this savory morsel either,” he growled moving his own finger down to graze her folds before he brought it up to his mouth and licked it clean as well.

Her eyes darkened to that shade of sapphires he was becoming familiar with when he scooted down the bed.

_“Ohhhh…”_

Jon grinned and lowered himself down between her legs. He licked and sucked at her bud and darted his tongue inside of her. She writhed beneath him, seeking her release. Her face was beatific and her eyes hazy when she found it.

“Oh, is right, darling, and our wedding night has just begun.” He looked over his shoulder at the clock on the mantle. “In fact, it’s not quite five yet and I’ve got plans plenty of plans for you and me, this bed and that tub.”

“I like all your plans,” she said, her words slurring slightly, a drunkenness of sorts from her peak that pleased him to no end.

“You ain’t even heard ‘em all yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, opening her arms, wanting an embrace. He crawled up the bed and into those arms, so content to hold her and be held. He nipped at her shoulder as she spread her legs, bucking her hips to encourage him. He sank inside her with a relieved groan when she carded her fingers through his hair and whispered in a dreamy voice, “I already love all your plans.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #eddtollett4sheriff #ramsayneeds2die 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	21. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are settling into married life but things aren't so settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, things start to get dicey in the second half of this chapter.

“You got your list ready for us, Sansa?” Pod asked as Rodrik followed him into the parlor.

“Just a moment.” 

Sansa set aside her ledger to pluck the list of supplies from under it. She gave it another considering glance to check the quantities she’d listed for every item. Sacks of coffee beans, flour, cornmeal, oatmeal and potatoes, yeast, sugar, salt, and pepper, salted ham and bacon, and plenty more to see them through the rest of winter would be purchased at the mercantile today. And then of course, there was the oats and corn for the livestock and seed for the spring planting of her garden. 

“May I ride along with y’all, Daddy?” Beth asked.

Though she’d addressed her father, Sansa caught the sweet though shy exchange of glances between Pod and Beth. Nothing overtly romantic had happened thus far to Sansa’s knowledge but it seemed neither wanted to be all that far from the other since Christmas. In fact, Pod now grumbled about heading into town on the nights he was working at the saloon rather than looking forward to the novelty of other company and gossip he might find there like in the past. 

“There’ll hardly be room in the wagon for all of this, let alone you, girl,” Rodrik chuckled after Sansa had handed it to him.

“Please?”

Sansa bit her lip to keep from grinning too widely at the way Pod looked ready to beg as well. Not noticing the boy, Rodrik acquiesced for his beloved daughter saying if she didn’t mind riding back wedged between sacks of potatoes and corn she could certainly come. 

“Let me fetch you the money,” Sansa told them. 

“And you'll get Noye's?” Rodrik reminded her, not that she needed reminding. 

She nodded. Donal Noye, the farrier was a kind man but there was a debt to pay off there from leaner times in the past for the ranch. She would sign a bank draft for Rodrik to give the man to cash at his convenience. Having suffered the humiliations of her aunt after her parents' death, Sansa abhorred debt and hoped to see herself clear of this one by summer.

She entered Loras’ room, knowing he was outside with Jon and Wex. The safe where Willas had kept cash and bank drafts was terribly heavy so she’d allowed it to remain here. She opened it and counted up the bills, nearly $400 on hand in addition to what was in the bank. It should be enough to make it to spring when there’d be folks looking to buy horses and stud fees for Licorice and a couple of the other stallions as people looked to breed their mares.

After carefully counting out $100, she returned to the others, passing the money to Rodrik. She picked up her fountain pen and signed the draft Sansa Tyrell Snow. Just writing it made her smile. 

She bid them a safe trip into town and back and sat down at her ledger again though her mind soon wandered. 

Their wedding day and night had passed them by and a new year had begun. In quiet moments, Sansa might reflect on the young woman she’d been a year earlier. She’d had this ranch but a great deal of responsibility came with it. She’d had good people by her side but she had also been very lonely in the dark of night. 

Back then, she’d spent a few of those wintry nights wondering if she’d made a mistake in not taking Mr. Bolton up on his offer to buy her out. _But where would I have gone if I had? _That question along with the love she bore the little family she’d made for herself here had kept her going when faith, hope and money were running low. 

Life had brought many changes in the past three months for her and Jon both but she welcomed them as life at the Golden Rose began to settle into a pattern of sorts for the newlyweds. 

And things were settling for more than just Sansa and Jon. Loras had elected to remain in Silverhill and at the ranch for the time being. Though his family had written and even telegraphed more than once, urging him to return home to take up his place and reintroduce himself to the belles of Philadelphia society, he wanted none of it. 

_“Garlan is there and has made a happy marriage with a girl of good family so I don’t fear for the family name or its prosperity. I find the West suits me. My parents and grandmother may gnash their teeth at my selfishness but I’ll choose my happiness over their obligations,”_ he’d announced during a dinner for four at The Stag the other night. 

The hearty _‘Hear, hear!’_ Mr. Baratheon had given along with a look shared between the two men had made Sansa curious once more about the nature of their particular friendship. 

_“Does that bother you, darling?”_ Jon had asked when she’d whispered her thoughts to Jon on the ride home.

_“No, I…did you know?”_

_“Uh huh. I ran across them in a, uh…private moment. I told Loras I’d keep it to myself. I hope you’re not offended by me not telling you or by them.”_

_“Not remotely. You were a discreet friend. And I am not so sheltered as you may imagine. Though Miss Mordane would’ve been shocked to know it, I have read the Iliad and the various interpretations of Achilles and Patroclus' relationship in that tale.”_

_“That makes one of us then,”_ he’d chuckled.

_“No, I’m only a little vexed at the thought that he came out here with intentions towards me when his heart was bespoke elsewhere. I wouldn’t have wanted another loveless marriage.”_

_“No, that would’ve been a crime for you to’ve suffered such a pretense again.”_

As no more pretenses were necessary, all of Jon’s meager belongings had been moved out of the bunkhouse and Ghost had claimed Jon’s bunk as his while Sansa could happily enjoy the warmth of her husband’s body beside her all night long without any worry over what was proper. She was also enjoying the steady creaking of their bed on a near nightly basis and often more than once a night. For the sake of being able to meet all eyes at the breakfast table, she'd convinced herself that no one else in the house could hear them. Mya did seem to smirk a good deal in the mornings but that was probably nothing. 

Jon had given her everything she could’ve hoped for in a spouse, someone to share her labors and burdens and to rejoice in their successes as well as a friend, a lover and a sweetheart. She was proud of how readily he adapted to his new role as the head man of the ranch. Despite his vehement arguments that the ranch would always belong to her, she considered him her full partner in every sense. 

_“I still say the Golden Rose belongs to you.”_

_“The law says differently, Mr. Snow. You are my husband and my possessions became yours the day we married.”_

_“The law is an outdated one written by dead men. I see no reason why one’s gender should preclude them from holding on to what’s theirs when they marry.”_

_“That’s quite progressive of you. You should've been a lawyer or a politician.”_

_“God forbid, wife.”_

Jon might not have agreed but Sansa saw how easily he could lead others in his own quiet way when called upon. If it weren’t for the shadow of his past, not to mention Jon’s horror at the very suggestion, she would think he’d be well suited to public office. 

Regardless, their individual strengths complimented one another well when it came to the ranch. Jon knew horses better than her and he could do the physical work that she could not. She understood the bookkeeping, the legalities and how best to charm the thornier variety of would-be buyers. 

Even as they were settling into their roles as a married couple though, life on the ranch was also settling into its winter routine. While there was work to do every day, it was not so busy as spring, summer and fall. Horses were to be fed and tended but mostly the winter was a time of making do, getting by, and being grateful to have a full belly and a warm fire to sit beside at night. It was a bad time to be homeless and friendless. 

That thought brought Ramsay Bolton to mind. 

Since his release from jail the day after Christmas, Ramsay had not been seen around Silverhill. There were rumors his daddy had sent him to stay with some of his mama’s kinfolk back in Little Rock. She hoped those rumors were true. His words about paying her a visit had given her a chill for certain and, though she shouldn’t applaud Jon for reacting violently, part of her hadn’t minded. 

Of course, there were just as many saying Mr. Roose had continued to turn his back on his troublesome son. There had been a theft from the mill according to Mychel and then some horses had been stolen from another ranch on the other side of town the next day. That could’ve easily been Ramsay and his friends. Either way, she only hoped the man was far from them at present and kept it that way. 

Pod had also mentioned that two of the Frey boys who'd set the horses loose had gone missing from home. Known as Big Walder and Little Walder, Pod said he didn't know if they were brothers or cousins. It was hard to tell with those Freys. Regardless, the boys had gotten mixed up in things beyond apple brandy and taken off after another threatened whipping. Wex had written two words in his little notebook Sansa had bought him from Christmas in response to Pod's news: GOOD RIDDANCE. 

In the absence of any further gossip from town, Sansa contented herself with her work and spent her leisure time knitting, sewing and such. Her napkins were coming along nicely after several January nights spent by the fire while Jon would read aloud to her if she asked or whittle when she was content with the roar of the fire. 

But tonight, she'd decided to start something new. 

“What’s that?” Jon asked, leaning over her shoulder as he joined her and Beth in the parlor after supper.

“It’s just a sketch. I will make our wedding sampler based upon it.” 

She fussed with her various threads for a moment and then looked up to gauge his response. His smile was tender and he kissed the top of her head, a very welcome response. He was appreciative of something other men might’ve dismissed as a frivolous way to pass time, even more frivolous than making lace napkins.

“The Reeds had one of those hanging over their hearth at the boarding house. I remember ‘When I am faithless, you are faithful’ was the piece of scripture Mrs. Reed had embroidered on it.”

“A lovely sentiment.”

“What’s that gonna be?” 

“Ghost.” He grinned, pleased she knew by the inclusion of his dear friend. “And this will be Licorice or a black horse anyway. And there’s where I’ll put a golden rose to symbolize the ranch, except this thread’s more yellow than gold, I suppose,” she finished with a slight scowl. 

“And that’s us?”

“Yes. Well, it will be little embroidered figures of us anyway. The wedding date will go above us and our names below.” She would put their first names with Snow embroidered between them. 

“We’re holding hands.” She could blush over how dreamlike his voice sounded. “My mama didn’t ever have nothing like this,” he murmured next, looking solemn.

_No, she wouldn’t have, poor woman._ “I have this because of you,” she told him, clasping the hand that rested on her shoulder.

The shadow that had fallen for an instant there vanished and his smile returned. _Post nubila, phoebus. An appropriate sentiment,_ she decided, continuing to sketch her plans. 

“I hope you got a pretty red yarn for your hair.” 

“It’s thread, not yarn and it will do.”

“You’ve left plenty of space empty.”

“Yes. A sampler can be added to, you know. I’m leaving some room for additions.”

“Additions?”

She could not help flushing at that with Beth reading nearby. “For any children we might have, Mr. Snow,” she replied in a hushed tone. 

“Oh.” He straightened and stoked the fire, appearing to mull something over. Sansa thought he was about to take the seat opposite to her at last but instead he plucked her sketch and the box of thread from her lap before helping her up from her chair. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “I think you’ve worked hard enough on that for tonight, darling.”

“But it’s barely past eight.”

“And I’ve got work to do giving us those additions,” he said with that wicked grin of his.

She allowed him to lead her to their bedroom, barely remembering to mumble a hurried goodnight to Beth. _They can't hear us,_ she told herself once more. 

* * *

It was early February and spring still seemed a long ways off though Sansa did not mind. Her winter had been a warm one in the ways that mattered. 

The longcase clock in the parlor had struck four not so long ago and something had caused her to stir from her dreamless sleep. The same had been true for Jon. The moon was sitting low, reflecting off the snow covered ground outside and filtering through their window, bringing them light enough to see. They held each other’s gaze and listened.   
Micah had been fussy throughout supper last night. He might be sprouting a new tooth which would mean a difficult night for mother and child both but whatever sound had caused Jon and Sansa to stir had ceased. 

However, they would not go back to sleep. 

The stirring from their slumber had brought about another variety of stirring. Staring became clasped hands, clasped hands began to caress, caresses turned to kisses and then kisses became his hands pulling her nightgown up past her hips as she hurriedly unbuttoned his union suit until he shoved it over his shoulders and down to his thighs. He was nearly voracious with his desire, his length jutting towards her proudly once it was free of his coverings. 

“Fuck…fuck, yes,” he groaned as he slammed into her with uncommon eagerness. 

Ordinarily, she might playfully chastise him for the vulgarity but it died on her tongue when he bucked his hips. And admittedly, there was something in his gruff tone and the coarseness of his words when they were joined that made her belly coil up with that hunger all the faster. 

“Yes…yes,” she chanted back to him, curling her legs over his hips. 

Their mingled grunts and the frenzied slaps of flesh meeting flesh were not remotely the stuff of gentile romance novels and Sansa did not care. She twined the fingers of one hand through his soft curls as the other hand squeezed his very appealing and firm backside. 

The cold winter winds might be blowing outside their window but their bodies were slick with sweat beneath the quilts. The top of her head was presently pressed against the bars of the bed. She couldn’t say she minded but Jon must’ve. He slipped free long enough for her to whimper in complaint as he rose up to his knees and then drug her down the sheets towards him before falling upon her once more, sliding back inside her wetness as if he’d never left it. 

“Oh Jon…oh Jon…oh-_ohhhh!”_

“Is that right?” the devilish man rumbled in her ear, pleased as punch without a doubt, after he'd started thrusting all the harder.

Several minutes later, they were both panting, still breathless after he’d spent at last when there was a tentative knock on their bedroom door.

“What in the hell?” he grumbled, slipping out of her again.

“They wouldn’t come to me this early over nothing,” she said, worry already chasing away her bliss. Poppy was due any time now with her foal was all she could think of.

She sat up to adjust her nightgown but Jon was quicker. He bound out of the bed despite his mild vexation, pulling the woolen union suit back over his shoulders and shoving his arms through the sleeves. His hair and neck were damp with sweat and he’d only bother with enough of the buttons to keep from being completely indecent.

When he jerked the door open, Mya was standing there cradling Micah to her. Her face was pale and her blue eyes wide. Mya usually just hollered through the door when she had something of note to report. For Mya to come to the door this way when she was probably aware of what she may have interrupted sent a chill all through Sansa.

The child was whimpery and fitful like he’d been at supper but something in his tone immediately convinced Sansa this was not a bothersome tooth trying to push its way through. 

Her friend was uncharacteristically flustered and embarrassed looking when she laid eyes on Jon’s state of dishabille. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said to Jon’s feet before looking around him. “He’s sick, Sansa. He’s been fretful all night and it doesn’t seem…I’m not sure what it is.”

Sansa hopped up from the bed, grabbing her bed robe. “Probably just a cold starting up. Let’s have a look, shall we?” she said in a falsely confident voice even as worry knotted in her belly like a lump of coal.

* * *

The day had passed both in a whirl of ceaseless labor and also in a slow crawl of building tension. 

Poppy had started her labors with the foal not long after dawn and Jon had been down at the stables checking her progress off and on while Mya remained indoors with her child. Sansa heard him giving orders to the other men. They could handle the rest of the chores well enough without the women. Pod fetched the eggs and milked Bessie which would normally be Beth’s task. But with the state of things in the house, Beth chose to fix oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. No one had much appetite and the eggs could keep. 

Not everyone was cut out for helping a mare birth a foal but all of the menfolk seemed intent on being useful in that respect today. Maybe the progression of labor was comfortingly predictable and less frightening than the alternative. Any time one of them came into the house, including her husband, they spoke in hushed tones and looked startled whenever they’d hear a plaintive wail from the child. It was familiar. 

Her sister and younger brothers had been the first to fall ill with the cholera. She recalled her mother’s unflinching presence by their bedsides even as her own health began to fail while her father and Robb had been noticeably awkward and unsure what to do. It struck Sansa that men, despite their unquestionable bravery in many respects, were not always well equipped when it came to that particular brand of courage it took to tend to the sick and cope with the stress and strain of watching a loved one suffer when there was precious little you could do for them.

There had been a temporary abatement of worry when Jon came in to report that the foal had been born shortly before noon right after Micah had fallen asleep on his mother’s chest.

"And does Poppy have a son or daughter?" Sansa asked in hopes of putting him more at ease as he stood uncertainly on the threshold of Mya's bedroom.

"A filly, thank God." He blanched no sooner than he'd said it. There was a long held superstition that female horses were heartier than males, especially those born in winter. They'd discussed it over supper the other night. But with Micah ill, she knew her husband didn't wish to speak so in front of Mya. Her friend didn't even notice. She was too intent upon her child. 

"That's good to know."

"How's he doing?" Jon asked to cover his gaffe as he stepped forward and his roughened hand stroked the boy's cheek as he slept.

“He’s worn out from his long night and this ague but he’ll improve soon,” Mya told him hopefully.

Sansa and Jon both nodded, hoping she was right.

But two hours later, he woke more fretful than ever. 

“Drink, baby,” Mya begged. 

Micah jerked his chin away, wanting none of Bessie’s milk. His eyes would well up with tears whenever he tried to drink and Sansa knew he must have a miserably sore throat even if he couldn’t tell her so. She did manage to get some tea and honey into him at last when he seemed to perk up some for a short span but mostly he was listless and too tired to do more than cry quietly. 

And as the sun began to set, his fever began to climb. She and Mya soaked rags in vinegar water to lay upon his skin while Beth was fixing a simple supper of beans, bacon and cornbread for the others. How he'd wail and cringe when they put the rags on him as if he were freezing to death instead of burning. His cheeks were so flushed and Mya chattered constantly, trying to assuage her rising panic as they removed his gown. Sansa’s eyes grew wet with tears when it was off of him. 

“Rodrik, will you come and take a look, please?” she asked from the bedroom door. He might not know much about tending sick children but he was older than anyone else present and she wanted a second opinion. 

“God Almighty. Scarlet fever,” he said in a broken voice when he saw the rash. 

Mya was sitting on the bed holding her baby, weeping into her hands. Sansa could not blame her. The mother had worked all the previous day and spent most of her night awake trying to tend her fretful child from the outset. The fatigue and anxiety of the day had mounted and mounted and now this, the indisputable presentation at last of a disease that some said killed a quarter of those who fell ill with it. And even those it did not kill might be left forever weakened by it.

“I’ll fetch the doc,” Pod said from where he’d been standing in the doorway, his hand laced through Beth’s. Jon stood behind them both and moved aside enough for the boy to sprint off to saddle his horse.

“What can I do?” Loras asked the next minute, taking Pod’s place. 

She did not know what to tell him. She had no more medical knowledge than what she’d learned at her mother’s knee but they were all looking to her. “Fresh quilts for him. These are soaked with sweat. And wet more rags with water and vinegar for me. Fetch fresh water from the well for him to drink. We’ll try and draw the fever down from his head.” 

Loras left to do her bidding and she looked to Jon, his handsome face etched with the misery of feeling afraid and helpless. She wanted to stumble to him, longed for the comfort of his arms and the reassurances he’d whisper if she asked it of him. His eyes told her he wanted to give her those things and hoped to find them in her as well. But there was a sick child to tend and a mother to comfort.

“Beth, get down to the bunkhouse,” Rodrik said gruffly after a moment. 

“Daddy?”

“You ain’t never had it as I recall. Go to the bunkhouse and stay there. I’ll be along. Wex? You ever had it, boy?”

Wex shrugged. At the orphanage he’d been neglected and treated as dumb because he was mute. He might’ve had it when he was younger but no one had told him and he didn’t know for sure.

“Go on with her,” Rodrik ordered. 

They both looked mutinous but there was only so much that could be done and only so many were needed here in the house.

“Go and pray for Micah. Ghost doesn't understand and is fretting. Keep him company tonight. We will call you if we need you or if there’s any word,” Sansa told them both. 

The pair left for the bunkhouse with Rodrik shortly after that. Ghost followed at their heels, whining with his tail drooping. Sansa hated sending him off in truth. Micah’s lone smile today had been earlier when he’d caught a glimpse of the dog. 

“Mychel,” Mya whispered when it was only the four of them. She turned her tearful eyes towards Jon. “I want Mychel to come. He should know. Please, Jon…tell him that our boy’s sick and…” 

Her friend’s words ended in a pitiful sob. Jon wrapped her up in his arms, giving her the comfort that she sought in his strength before promising he’d bring the boy’s father. 

“Where’s he staying?” he asked Sansa.

“Heddle’s boarding house with the other laborers from the mill.” 

“I’ll fetch him,” he promised Mya again.

He kissed Sansa’s cheek before heading out the door, leaving only her, Mya and the baby in the house for now.

* * *

  
An hour had passed very slowly, like molasses in wintertime for certain. With luck Pod and Jon would return before too long. But with snow on the ground and the uncertainty of where their sought-after parties might be, there was no telling for sure. 

Sansa was most anxious for the doctor to come even though she acknowledged in her mind there was little he could do. Still, she wanted to believe his presence would mean something.

Her mind kept returning to her family as the minutes ticked by and how she’d lost her parents and four siblings to disease in the course of three days-time. And though they hadn’t been in love, she had cared for her husband and she'd had to watch as Willas had slipped away, leaving her to an uncertain future and with a new set of responsibilities resting on her slender shoulders. Five years of losing more than winning. And now, just when she felt like things were changing, this day had made her wonder if her newfound joy was to be undercut by sorrow once more. A heavy stone filled her chest at the thoughts of losing yet again. 

She knelt beside the hearth when there was nothing else to do but wait, giving Mya a few minutes alone with her son. Grief and no small amount of anger filled her as she spoke. “Father, whatever You mean to teach me, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to learn it. Haven’t You taken enough? Can You be this cruel? Please, don’t take this boy. Don’t hurt my family like this.” 

She felt an arm around her shoulders. Loras. He’d done everything she'd asked him to do and had been pacing the porch in his anxiety. She hadn't heard him walk in. "Go on. You're an uncommonly strong person, Sansa, but you don't have to always be," he murmured into her hair, letting her give in and cry if she needed to. So, she did. 

When she had had her fill of crying, they sat in silence beside the fire, their ears straining for sounds of the others returning. She picked up her mama’s Bible and it opened to the page where her flowers from Jon were pressed. He would return to her, she knew, and it made her smile.

Just as she attempted to read a verse, there was a pounding at the backdoor.

“Oh, thank God,” Loras said, rising from his seat. 

_Why would any of them knock?_ “Loras, wait…”

But he had already opened the door and Sansa could do no more than yelp when five armed men shoved their way inside. One struck Loras across the temple with the butt of a rifle and he fell to the floor with barely a groan. All were wearing hats and bandanas to cover their faces. 

Sansa drew a deep breath for a proper scream just as Mya rushed into the parlor carrying Micah, thinking the doctor had come.

“Be silent! We just want money,” the gruff voice of a man in his middle years said. “Do what we say and there won’t be no more harm done.”

They were a raggedy pack of scarecrows, bandits to a man. Sansa knelt beside Loras, touching his cheek. He was unconscious but alive. 

She took a closer look at her uninvited guests. In addition to the man who’d spoken, there were two who looked to be mere boys by their eyes. One of them appeared to be afraid while the larger one acted elated as if he was heading to a bonfire. The next man was maybe Jon’s age and his dark eyes were hard as flint. And at last she settled on the man standing beside the one who’d spoken. His pale eyes were the color of dirty chips of ice. She knew those eyes and gasped, recognizing Ramsay without a doubt. 

He chuckled and pulled his bandana down, realizing that the time for masks had passed. “Good evening, ma’am. I did promise to pay a call on you if you remember.” He stepped forward and nudged Loras with his boot. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, sir,” he said before turning to Sansa. “I thought that was just an ugly rumor that you’d remarried but I guess it’s true.” 

_He doesn’t know Jon, doesn’t know he’s my husband. Please, God, let them return soon. Let them return and know something’s the matter. _

Micah started crying and Ramsay’s false friendliness died on the spot. “Shut that fucking brat up!” he warned Mya, aiming a pistol her way. “Or maybe I'll shut him up for you."

Mya was not a woman to silently sit and be threatened but her child was another matter. She also knew as well as Sansa that Ramsay partly blamed her presence on the ranch for him not having a job there still even though Mya had nothing to do with that. She pressed her son to her, turning him away from Ramsay. "He'll be quiet."

"Take what you want and go. We're not alone here," Sansa said to draw his attention back to her. She could not do much but if she could protect her family, she would. 

"Old Rodrik and a couple of string-bean boys?" Ramsay laughed. "I think we can handle them along with your Romeo here.” He gave Loras a swift kick in the ribs. 

"Stop it!" she shouted, growing panicked. "There’s money here you can have, nearly $300!” Avarice gleamed in more than one set of eyes at that but not Ramsay’s. His eyes gleamed with something else. “We won’t say a peep and you can go,” Sansa said, getting the words out but unable to hide the quavering of her voice. 

The frightening flash of rage became a cruel smile that was somehow even more frightening. “Oh, that’s very good, Mrs. Tyrell. I like you being all courteous and such to me for a change." He paced closer to her. _Good. Let him ignore Mya and Loras and the baby. Pay attention to me_. "Me and my boys are hungry though."

"There's food here."

"Wonderful. I have an appetite." She flinched when he stopped in front of her, his eyes trailing up and down her figure. "We been up in the mountains for weeks now. We're all short a few toes, I reckon, and poor old Ben’s lost the tips of his ears. And, that dumb shit there,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the boy who looked afraid, “lost the tip of his nose after we ate Damon.” Her stomach recoiled at his casual talk of cannibalism and it showed on her face. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t eat you…unless you like that sort of thing. Ain’t you gonna offer us a bite?”

She was shaking but she could be brave. They’d get some food and rob her of her last dime but she didn’t care so long as they left and didn’t harm anyone else here. “There’s cornbread and beans in the kitchen leftover from supper and you can have all the money.”

“And where is the money, ma’am?”

“In the bedroom,” she said, nodding towards Loras’ room.

“Well, isn’t that convenient? I haven’t laid in a proper bed for some time now.” The men with him found amusement in his words and Sansa felt dizzy as he motioned with his gun. “Lead the way, ma’am. I'll be right behind you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got ridiculously emotional writing about Micah's illness. Still not over Beth March, I guess. Anyway, sorry for the cliffhanger but I assure you that Jon is on his way home. 
> 
> Taking a short break over the holiday weekend so Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it 🦃🙏💗 and I'll see you in December :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	22. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning to update my other WIPs soon but my husband is eager for Jon to take care of some business here first :) 
> 
> Warning: Things do get violent so I've added the Archive warning to be safe but I don't consider it terribly graphic. Obviously, that's subjective though!

Though he would do it for Mya regardless, Jon would be ashamed to admit aloud how relieved he’d been at the prospect of escaping the house for an hour or so when she’d asked him to fetch Micah’s daddy.

He’d faced hostile, armed men, savage bulls and ornery broncs plenty of times in his life. He’d known the worst sort of tempests out on the plains and the gnawing fear of an empty canteen, an exhausted horse and countless miles between himself and the nearest clean water a few times, too. He’d dealt with all of those things the only way he knew how, by putting one foot in front of the other or letting action and instinct take over when the time for making plans was done.

But he didn’t know how to sit still and watch helplessly as disease threatened someone he loved. Losing his mother had been awful enough when he’d only half understood what was happening. Now, he was well aware of the danger. For a man who’d had little to nothing beyond Ghost when he’d come to the Golden Rose, he had so much now. _And having things means knowing you could lose them._

All day, he’d sought some occupation to keep fear at bay. After the mare had successfully birthed her filly, he’d told himself it was a good omen. Then, just as quickly, he’d fretted over whether the Lord had given something only to take something else away. So, he’d busied himself with menial tasks, hoping to put his worries over the child from his mind. It hadn’t really worked.

Out here in the open though, cantering along at a good clip on an excellent horse with the cold wind clearing his head, he’d thought he might’ve found some abeyance from worry. _But you can’t really outrun trouble, can you? A lesson you oughta know by now._

Dusk was fading away into night and he was forced to slow Licorice to a trot for safety’s sake. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he lamed his horse or wound up braining himself on a rock again when he’d promised Mya. He had a wife that needed him back home, too. For all her steadfastness and quiet strength, he knew how this must eat at her having lost her family like she had. Luckily, he’d already reached the outskirts of town and he made his way towards Heddle’s boarding house.

The innkeeper was more intent upon her chewing tobacco than anything when he asked about Redfort. She merely shrugged at Jon’s questions of his whereabouts before displaying her remarkable range and aim at hitting the spittoon. Jon grimaced and wondered if she’d call the sheriff on him if he headed up the steps and started pounding on doors. _Maybe if I promised to buy her a chaw, she’d not raise a ruckus._

“You looking for Mychel?” a man’s voice asked behind him.

He turned to find a familiar face. Cletus Yronwood, who had once thought to buy himself a mare from Sansa and head into the Rockies on the cusp of winter until she’d made him think better of it, had gone to work for Tallhart’s mill and obviously taken accommodations at the boarding house as well. He looked quite comfortable with his pipe by the fire.

Jon explained that it was an urgent matter and, as Yronwood had befriended Redfort and knew something of his concerns when it came to Mya and Micah, he directed him to the Smoking Log, saying Mychel had gone with some of the other fellers for a drink after they’d knocked off for the day.

Shortly afterwards, Jon entered the busy saloon and spied two large groups. One contained Tormund and some of the miners playing poker with a couple of alfalfa desperados. The other looked to be workers from the mill who had found themselves a table. When Jon noticed that half a dozen slatterns were seated with them, a spark of anger and misuse on behalf of Mya filled him. However, he soon realized his folly. Mychel was not with them. He was standing at the bar, talking with Edd and Brienne.

“My Little Snow!” Tormund bellowed in his affable way when he caught sight of him. “Where’s that pretty wife of yours? Did you foul up already, boy?”

Tormund guffawed over his joke but Jon merely tipped his hat to him. He had no time for chewing the fat, not even with Tormund. He headed straight towards his quarry.

Without any sort of beg-your-pardon or niceties, he addressed the man’s back. “Your boy’s bad sick and Mya sent me to fetch you to the ranch.”

They all turned to face him but continued standing there except now they were gaping at him, their mouths opening and closing like fish. Maybe he could’ve started off with a nicety or two.

“My boy?” Mychel finally stammered.

“What’s wrong with him, Jon?”

“Has the doctor been fetched?”

“What’s going on?”

That last was Tormund and Jon breathed in and out through his nose, seeking patience before trying again. “He come down sick last night and Sansa and Rodrik thinks it’s scarlet fever. Pod’s gone to fetch the doc. Mya wants you to come and that’s why I’m here. That’s all I got to tell right now so, are you coming or ain’t you?”

He’d probably let his temper get the best of him. He didn’t have the most patience as it was and certainly not after a long and worrisome day and facing a pack of questions.

“Of course, I’m coming!”

“You got a horse?” Edd asked him.

Redfort slowly shook his head, reminding Jon of a lost pup now. “I borrowed one from another feller last time I rode out that way.”

“You can borrow my horse, Mychel,” Brienne said, firm but kind. “She’s tied up out back and just needs to be saddled.”

That got him moving at least. “Thank you, Brienne. I can’t promise I’ll get her back real soon.”

“I’ll ride with y’all and bring Brienne’s horse back,” Edd told him.

“I’m coming, too!” Tormund piped up. He didn’t offer an explanation of why he was coming and Jon wasn’t going to ask, seeing as it would be useless. Tormund wanted to come and there wasn’t time to argue.

_I’m sent to fetch one man and I’m coming back with three._

He swallowed his lingering impatience and motioned for them to shake a leg. He was just glad he’d found Redfort and the logistics had been decided upon without any more dilly-dally. He’d been gone nearly an hour already, he’d guess. He wanted to do this for Mya but there was something else gnawing at him. He had a queer feeling in his chest like Sansa needed him home…now.

* * *

They met Pod and Doc Luwin on the road about a half mile from the ranch. Pod had been lucky and the doc had been at home, first place he’d looked. Without any other joiners, talk of horses or needless questions, the doc had grabbed his kit, jumped into his little curricle and followed Pod. But his old nag wasn’t the swiftest and it slowed the entire party down.

Would the doc arriving any quicker matter for Micah? He didn’t know. From what little he knew, Sansa’s actions seemed about the extent of what could be done. Beyond that, they were left with hope, faith in the resilience of youth and prayer.

Either way, Jon was becoming increasingly convinced that his wife needed him home and any pleasure he’d felt over riding off on his errand earlier had long since disappeared. She’d looked close to her breaking point when he’d left and he knew how worn out she must feel on top of her worries. Part of them marrying meant neither of them having to face trouble alone again. Meanwhile, he was out here with all these fellers like they were heading to a play instead of by her side.

_You went to fetch Mya’s man. You did that and you’re heading back. You can get her to lie down for a spell and see to her needs while the doc sees to the boy. Stop thinking it to death._

But then, he heard a long, quavering howl carried by the wind. It seemed like it was coming from ahead but also echoing off the mountains, surrounding them with that plaintive warning. It was like a ghost howling. _Or maybe Ghost._

_“Arrrr-ooooo! Arrr-OOOOO!”_

“What’s that?”

“Coyote,” he answered Redfort’s nervous question. The man was chatty enough without Jon sharing his disquiet.

The dog was normally quiet but not always. He’d howled a handful of times since he’d come to Jon. The first time had been the day they’d met when they’d passed the body of one of the braves who’d tried to ride off. He’d been shot and succumbed to his wounds about two miles away from the heart of the violence. Ghost had been just a pup. His pitiful little yowls would ordinarily have been considered laughable back then if not for the circumstances. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck would still raise at just the memory of those howls now.

Tormund was unnaturally quiet as well, the gravity of the child’s illness weighing on him. He had a big heart as Jon knew very well. He had a daughter, all grown up now, but Jon knew he’d once had a wife and son who had passed. He’d never asked the cause. He’d been half a boy when Tormund had mentioned it in his cups one night and Jon had been shy about asking for specifics. Now, it bothered him that he’d never asked. Boy or not, he could’ve offered more than a sympathetic murmur to the top of his friend’s bowed head.

Before he could decide if now was the time to ask or how he even would, his ears caught the sound of hooves headed towards them. The clouds parted as the figure drew nearer and the moonlight revealed Wex riding like the devil was at his back with Ghost racing alongside. No more howling but Jon was convinced it had been him howling earlier.

Jon closed the distance, leaving the others to catch up. He slid off his horse, half catching Wex in his arms and shouting at the poor boy in his nervousness. Had the boy worsened? Had Sansa suddenly come down with symptoms? “What is it?!”

Wex pointed emphatically back over his shoulder towards the ranch and made guns of his fingers. It was not what he’d expected at all and yet he did not doubt what Wex was trying to tell him. _When it rains, it pours, doesn’t it?_

“We got trouble?”

He nodded.

“Son of a bitch.” In addition to Micah being seriously ill, his wife and the others were in danger now. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth?

Ghost paced and growled, displaying his impatience over them not immediately heading back the way he’d just come. Jon subconsciously touched the gun on his hip, the one he’d worn to town out of habit.

Edd and the others had already joined them as Wex finished scribbling a description of the situation in his journal: 5 MEN WITH GUNS IN HOUSE.

“Where’s Rodrik?”

The answer: BUNKHOUSE.

“Are they strangers?”

Wex shook his head and scribbled again: RAMSAY, FREY BOYS, TWO MORE. ALL I SAW.

Like a lightning flash, the wrath that had started to swell inside him was tempered by fear. It was a cold knife twisting in his belly, making him feel weak and sickly at the thought of that man and his wife at his mercy. But years of facing the unexpected had conditioned him to not allow emotions to take over when it was time for action.

He asked what mattered most to him. “They hurt anyone?”

Wex shrugged. He didn’t know and probably hadn’t had much of a peek before he’d rode off seeking help. The boy pointed to Ghost and intuition came to Jon then. The dog was how they’d known anything was amiss to begin with.

“Goddammit.”

Without another word, he climbed back on Licorice, Ghost leading the way as he tore off at break-neck speed the rest of the way towards the house. He didn’t have a plan yet but he had at least five men with him who would and could fight. He hoped so anyway. He didn’t look to see who all was following him.

Before long the gated archway with the wrought-iron rose twisted above it came into view and he leapt from Licorice’s back. He might not be much of a dancer, but Jon Snow could move with speed, stealth and grace when necessary. And while he was a peaceable man at heart, he was capable of lethalness when the occasion called for it. It was certainly calling for it now.

Rodrik had caught sight of him through the moonlight and was motioning him down towards the bunkhouse with gestures when he rounded the house. Jon shook his head. He had no interest in holding a war council over what to do first. His wife was in the house with that wretch. He needed to think rationally but he knew he could not possibly stand around discussing strategy while God only knew what was happening inside.

Quick and quiet, he climbed the steps of the back porch, memory and instinct aiding him to avoid the creakier boards. His heart was thumping loud in his chest but the rest of him was deathly quiet. It was odd really how that curious detached sense of calm could be guiding him into action while on a higher plain, his mind was tormenting him at the thoughts of harm coming to Sansa or the others.

He peered inside the window and saw three men with guns standing over Mya and Micah. Loras was laid out on the floor of the parlor. He didn’t know if he was dead or not but he spied no blood. The squeak of a board behind him had him turning, unbridled hatred flaring at whoever had made the sound. It was Edd who held up his shotgun and a hand. He would need back-up besides Ghost, he reminded himself.

Tormund stood at the foot of the steps, holding a maul he must’ve picked up off the stack of wood beside the house. He would wield it with barbaric effect, Jon knew. Wex and the doc were not in sight. Edd must’ve told them to stay back.

_I like our odds all the same._

He took another look inside. He couldn’t see Sansa or Ramsay. One of the other mentioned five was missing. Was it possible Wex had miscounted? What if there were more than five? _I’m still going._ The anxiety over where Sansa was told him he could not wait another moment.

Pod and Rodrik were coming up from the bunkhouse now on the double, carrying guns. Redfort had got himself a pistol and was trying to bull his way past Tormund. _Good enough._ Waiting any longer wouldn’t increase their chances. Surprise was on their side and time was of the essence.

He gave the back doorknob a subtle jiggle. He had a feeling these fools had not locked nor barred it. If they had, there was always the window but that would take longer. He spied the doc and Wex rounding the house. The boy was eager to join in but Jon hoped the old man would keep him back.

Giving a quiet count to five for the men now breathing down his neck, he raised his Colt, turned the handle and put the full force of his weight against the door. It swung inward without a hint of resistance.

His first three steps were nearly his folly for he had temporarily forgotten Loras and almost tripped. His boot landed heavily on the back of Loras’ knee, drawing forth a pained though groggy moan. He was alive at least.

The next moment, he started firing his Colt into the face of the surprised invader closest to him. The body fell to the floor, the face a red ruin. Mya leapt up from where she was sitting, clutching Micah to her and giving the man nearest her a shove before getting the hell out of the way. A shotgun blast from beside Jon left his ears ringing. Body number two, courtesy of Edd and his shotgun, was bleeding all over Sansa’s parlor floor. Number three, the one Mya had shoved, met his end between Redfort with his pistol and Tormund swinging the maul. It was not a pretty sight but Jon could not focus on that. He’d just heard a scream from Loras’ room.

“JON!”

Her calling for him seemed to unhinge what was left of restraint and rational thought. Unlike the other door, this one was locked. He started slamming his shoulder into it, desperate to reach her. He’d break bones before he’d stop trying to get to her but it would not yield to him. He could hear sounds within. She would fight the best she could but what good would it do her if he held a gun?

“Tormund, the door!” he cried with all his might.

Even the solid oak was not immune to the maul and the big man’s enormous strength. It gave way and Jon was the first through. Sansa was not standing beside Ramsay. She’d obviously been trying to stay out of his grip. That must’ve been part of the scuffling he’d heard.

He took aim at once but Ramsay was cruel and crafty. Rather than a straight up gunfight, the man sensed what would make his opponent freeze. He was threatening to shoot his beloved girl. Jon’s chest seized up, leaving him paralyzed with fear. His arm felt too heavy for the Colt to see that man’s gun pointed at her. He was tempted to drop his gun, hoping to draw Ramsay’s fire away from her. One of the others could kill him. At least, she’d be safe. The bed was between them but it’d be awfully hard for Ramsay to miss at this distance.

However, Jon could see Ramsay’s puzzlement as he recognized the nameless cowpoke he’d seen twice before in town. He could use that maybe.

“You?” Ramsay asked, confused.

“Yeah, me. I did say we’d be better off never meeting but I reckon you don’t listen so well.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“He would be my husband, Mr. Bolton. I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting until now,” Sansa said in a surprisingly calm manner.

Whether he was amused by her answer or incredulous over it, Ramsay’s head turned slightly towards her voice. This was his best chance. He raised his pistol but someone else was faster. Ghost came charging through the door, his jaws sinking into the wrist holding the gun in an instant. It went off with a loud bang before dropping to the floor. Sansa yelped but he could tell she was only startled. He thanked God for that before all sense of control snapped. This man had held her hostage, had led her into this bedroom with who knew what plans.

Like the animal, half dog and half wolf, primal instinct took over and he lunged at Ramsay much like Ghost had. He had him pinned to the ground, pleased by the pained grunt Ramsay made as the wind was knocked from him and the hard sound of his skull meeting the floor.

Over and over, until his fists were nearly as bloody as Ramsay’s face, he hit him. Everything was a haze, painted in burnt ochre around the fringes while the crunch of bone and meaty thwack of flesh meeting flesh was all he could comprehend along with the urge to keep hitting him. He only paused long enough to rear back on his heels to get a better hold of his prey before starting again, his knees driving into his victim’s chest. He could almost swear he felt the ribs crack under him.

“That’s enough,” one man told him.

“He’s done, Jon,” another man said.

He didn’t care. He kept hitting him until…

“Jon. Stop, husband.”

Her voice was soft and tentative but it pierced through the fog of his rage. His darling was calling to him, pulling him back towards the light of her voice. He needed to come back to himself for her.

He raised his eyes to meet her pure blue ones. The fear from earlier was gone, only concern remained. He knew how she fretted over everyone one on this ranch. He didn’t want her fretting. He was shaking violently as he stood, stumbling towards her. Despite his earlier savagery, he only dared to lightly cup her cheek, his hand trembling to match his voice when he asked, “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. There was a hint of tears in her eyes but she was smiling, too. “I’m not hurt. He only grabbed at me when we heard you coming in but I kept out of his reach. He never touched me.”

He could’ve wept with relief, knowing she was safe. He might’ve done so if Sansa hadn’t started fussing over him, kissing his bloodied knuckles. He couldn’t even feel them right now. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm protectively around her as he finally took a look at the other men in the room. It was just Tormund, the doc and Edd.

“The others?” he asked them.

“All dead except that scrawny little Frey boy who was hiding in the kitchen,” Edd told him. “You alright, ma’am?”

Sansa nodded, her head coming to rest against the side of his cheek. “I’m alright, deputy. Thank you for your aid. They came to rob us. They struck Loras with the butt of a rifle when he opened the door. They thought only Rodrik, Wex and Pod would be here, down at the bunkhouse and told us to keep quiet, threatening me, Mya and her son. They wound up meeting far more resistance than expected.”

“That they did, ma’am. I’m glad we got back when we did.” Jon nearly staggered at Edd’s words. He did not want to reflect on what might’ve happened here if they’d been delayed any longer in their return. “I could use a couple of men to see the Frey boy and this one,” Edd added, pointing at Ramsay, “back into town. I’ll let Karstark know there’ll be a hanging soon.”

Doc Luwin spoke for the first time from where he was kneeling beside Ramsay. “One hanging anyway.”

“Now, I know he’s just a boy, Doc, but he came here meaning to rob Mrs. Snow and harmed Mr. Tyrell and…”

“No, Edd. I mean, you’ll only have the Frey boy to hang, I reckon. No need to hang Bolton here. He’s already deader than a can of corned beef.”

Sansa gasped beside him, her arms tightening around him. Jon couldn’t say he cared so long as Ramsay was dead. _But how will his daddy feel about it? And what about Karstark?_

Edd was busy fuming. “Dammit, Doc. You mean, I don’t get to hang that son of a bitch?”

“Nope.”

“I never do get what I want,” he said churlishly and Jon might’ve laughed under different circumstances.

“No one has to know. We’ll bury them and not tell anyone they ever came here.”

It took Jon a moment to realize Sansa had actually spoken.

“Darling…” he said in warning.

Edd’s grumbling over not getting to hang Ramsay came to a halt. He blinked and stared at her like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right or maybe she’d grown a second head. “Ma’am?”

“No one has to know,” she whispered again.

Tormund was nodding, no doubt in agreement with her. But Tormund knew things that Edd did not and it was better that way.

“And the Frey boy, ma’am?” Edd asked, looking half afraid of what her answer might be.

“I…” Sansa turned to look at him beseechingly now.

_“Shhhh,”_ he murmured softly, stroking her back. “She’s just had a bad scare, Edd. We know you got a job to do.” He knew that wasn’t what had prompted her to speak. She knew he knew it but she was also realizing how it sounded with her suggesting they hide the bodies.

Doc rubbed his chin thoughtfully saying, “This filth ain’t worth no more of my time. I’ll go see to Mya’s boy, Sansa,” and ducked out of the room.

Recovering from her fright, his wife effectively covered her mistake with her next words. “I’m sorry, deputy. I was only scared out of my wits there and worried about what Ramsay’s daddy might do or say. Your boss is awful friendly with him.”

Edd immediately relaxed again, giving her a reassuring grin. “There’s no need for you to fret none, ma’am. No matter how Mr. Bolton might feel about things, the law is the law and the sheriff knows it. A man defending his home and his wife from thieves and lawless men? Why, shoot. Ain’t a word Mr. Roose can say against that assuming he even cares and everybody 'round here knows it. There’ll be an inquiry at most but Jon’s actions are completely justifiable to my understanding.”

It was impossible to hold in their combined sigh of relief at that. It was also short-lived when Edd spoke again.

“Besides…it’s not like Jon’s a wanted man or anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite Edd's worrisome words, the next chapter will lead the ranch's residents into a promising spring after there's a hanging in Silverhill.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!


	23. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa talk after the night's violence and wait to see how Micah is faring. Later, Sansa attends her first hanging but March will bring happier times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this got long and there's not much action or drama but I hope you'll enjoy people loving and supporting each other, whether they are friends or lovers, all the same :)

Dawn was drawing nearer and Sansa didn’t know when she’d ever been so tired. But she was thankful, mighty thankful, to have her husband sitting across from her as she tended his battered knuckles.

The house was quiet at last. They’d been speaking in whispers, not wishing to disturb the tranquility after all the earlier chaos. 

“What’d he say to you?” It was not the first words they’d spoken but she could tell by the tone of his voice and the intensity of his stare that it was something that had been weighing upon him. 

She shook her head. “Things that will be forgotten. I’m already forgetting them even as we sit here.” His grey eyes sharpened. “He is dead and will speak no more ugly words to anyone, husband.”

Threats. Ramsay had made plenty of threats. He would not be acting on any of those threats. Jon had returned just as she’d prayed he would and he had not come alone. Repeating Ramsay’s words would only stick them in her memory when she would rather forget everything about him. And they would only inflame Jon’s rage when he needed peace. There were no more men for him to kill tonight. 

“We share our burdens, wife.”

Ah, he had her there. “That we do so I will lay mine down for you now. I fear for Micah. It is a monstrous worry that eats at me every waking moment and an ache that pierces my heart. I have no children yet but, in my heart, he is as good as mine.”

“I know. I’m fretting for him, too.”

She knew that. He was a good man who had come to love the people of this ranch as well as she did. “I worry for you. I do not want trouble from Mr. Bolton or the sheriff over what has happened here.” He grimaced and she knew he had his own concerns there. “In far less grave matters, I am weary and do not believe my parlor rug is salvageable.” The blood would never come out, she suspected.

“I’ll buy you a new rug,” he shrugged and she laughed before she could help herself. She was just as quickly horrified that she’d done so considering everything. 

“Then, I know no other burdens to share. What are yours?”

“That you were in danger and I wasn’t there. I feel a failure of a man.”

“Nonsense. You were gone at Mya’s bidding and with my blessing. You returned before any true harm was done. We are all alive and safe because of you.”

"And Wex's warning."

"Wex and Ghost, yes."

“I wanna take care of you. I wanna protect you always.” 

“You do and I want to take care of you.” To prove it, she dabbed a bit of salve on his knuckles. He jerked his hand back, nearly upsetting the basin. “Hold still,” she tutted.

“Goddamn, it stings,” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

“There’s no helping that.” 

But she was not indifferent to his pain and leaned across the basin, kissing his brow and drawing forth a boyishly reluctant smile from that scowling face. Unspooling the lightly-woven cotton she used for bandages and such, she began to wrap his hands next. 

“I can’t do no work with my hands bound up like that,” he groused but, when she gave him a stern look, he said no more and submitted to her ministrations. 

Most work could keep for a day or so and he knew it. Rodrik and the boys could likely manage whatever needed doing while Jon's hands healed up. An image of him striking Ramsay came to her. Over and over, he'd hit that wretched man until his knuckles had split and she'd spoke his name. The savagery she'd witnessed in her husband might've frightened her if she didn't know how heartachingly tender he could be, whether he was bouncing Micah on his knee or gently coaxing a skittish horse to accept the bridle. 

Despite the awful goose egg on his head, Loras had claimed he was fine, only sorry he’d not been able to help the others. _If you’d not been knocked unconscious at the start, they might’ve shot and killed you before Jon and the rest arrived._ He’d given up his room to the doctor who’d decided to stay through the night to keep watch over Micah. He’d taken a distraught Beth down to the bunkhouse and amused her with tales of Philadelphia society from what Sansa had heard until the poor girl had fallen asleep at last. That was plenty enough to help, on top of comforting herself earlier when she’d been nearing despair over Micah. 

Mychel had been by Mya and Micah’s side no sooner than the violence was done and remained there so Sansa had seen to other matters, not wishing to intrude too much on the parents with their child. 

Tormund and Wex had left with Deputy Tollett and their sole prisoner an hour ago. The bodies of their would-be robbers including Ramsay had been removed from the house. 

_“Stacked ‘em like cordwood on the far side of the barn.”_

_“That dog of yours might get hungry but I reckon he’s got better taste than that.”_

_“Be a shame for Ghost to get sick eating the likes of those varmints.”_

_“Oughta be stiff as boards come morning with the cold. 'Course being dead helps.”_

_“I’d still like to hang ‘em.”_

The men had enjoyed their macabre jests but they were not to Sansa’s taste and, once Jon had realized it, no more such comments had been made…at least, not where she could hear them. 

Mulling over her words as she finished with the bandaging, she lowered her voice. “Do you trust Deputy Tollett? Enough to tell him?” 

He raised one hand, no doubt wanting to scratch at his whiskers the way he would sometimes when he was pondering his words. Frustrated by the bandages, he let it drop again. “I like Edd.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“We fought together tonight. I’d trust him with many things.”

“Jon…”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Sansa. It’s not that I don’t want to clear my name but…what if he sees it different than you did? And he ain’t the sheriff. I told you what Tormund says Karstark’s like. It’s not a risk I think I can take. I’ve got…” He clasped her hands in his bound one, his expression earnest and pleading. “There’s too much at stake for more than just me now.”

With a sigh, she nodded and then rose to tidy up. The basin needed to be emptied and put away along with her scissors, the soap, the bandages and the salve. 

She understood his hesitancy. She really did. And she didn’t know Deputy Tollett so well as her husband was coming to. She liked him though. She wanted to trust him and believe that there might be an officer of the law on their side should Jon’s past ever come up here in Silverhill. 

Then again, she recalled what Karstark had been like when her horses had been stolen after Willas’ death and his friendship with Mr. Bolton. 

“Sansa…”

“I’ll respect your wishes.” 

“No, that ain’t what I wanna talk about. C’mere,” he said, taking the basin and other supplies from her arms and setting them aside on their bureau. “All this can wait. You’re dead on your feet. You’ve had an anxious time and faced an awful scare. I want you to lie down for a spell, sleep a few hours.”

“I can’t be sleeping. Mya might need me.”

“Her man’s here. He can do his part to help care for his boy.”

“There’ll be breakfast to start in another hour, eggs to fetch and Bessie to see to and…” 

He gave her a stern look and she closed her mouth, allowing him to lead her to their bed. Her stubbornness only went so far and he was right. His hands were clumsier than normal but he insisted on helping her out of her dress and stays. When she was down to her shift and unmentionables, he drew back the covers. 

"You're taking care of me," she said dreamily as her head hit the pillow.

“That's all I want to do. Promise to lie here for two hours at least?”

“Two hours…_if_ you’ll promise to lie down with me.” She bit her lip, half expecting a scolding. 

He didn’t scold. He grinned and started tugging at his suspenders. “That was already my plan, ma’am.”

* * *

  
The sun was well up when she awoke again, feeling disoriented but a little more rested anyhow. When the events from the past day came to her, she gasped and sat up. 

“Darling, lie back down,” Jon muttered, still half asleep.

She paid him no heed but threw on her dressing robe and rushed out the door. Mychel was sitting in the parlor, his head in his hands and weeping like a broken man.

“Micah!” she cried, rushing to her friend’s room and worried the unspeakable had happened while she’d slept.

She could’ve fainted dead away from relief at the sight that met her eyes. She might’ve if she hadn’t felt Jon’s hands at her waist steadying her. How had he followed her so quick and quiet?

The baby was sitting in his mother’s lap, giggling over some silly face Pod was making as a spoonful of oatmeal was making its way towards him. Doc Luwin was chuckling at the child and Pod but he heard her gasp. All four of the room’s occupants turned towards her.

“Naw-na,” Micah said, giving her a smile. Sansa was more than he could pronounce but she knew what he meant at once and her whole body trembled with emotion over the sweetness of those two syllables. 

“His fever’s broke and he's improved greatly since last night,” the doctor said before turning back to Mya. “Give him that oatmeal and anything else he feels up to eating, Mya. He may prefer water to milk for a few days. I’ll come check on him tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doc.” 

She rushed past the doctor, collapsing at the edge of the bed. She couldn’t resist placing her hand upon his little brow. “Are you feeling better, my sweet one?”

He just grinned at her which caused the oatmeal in his mouth to dribble down his chin. She’d never been happier to see a messy little face. 

Mya reached for her hand and the two women shared their relief and joy with a look, no words being necessary.

“We feared the worst when we saw Mychel,” Jon said.

“He got right overcome a few minutes ago but he’ll be alright. Micah said da-da and he took on with sobbing and such that I finally had to send him out to compose himself. Can’t have our son getting distressed over having a sentimental fool for a daddy,” Mya said wryly but with no true censure. 

Sansa thought she'd gladly go weep some of her happy tears with him.

* * *

Three weeks had passed since Micah's illness and their unwelcome callers had made the mistake of coming to the Golden Rose. March was nearly upon them and spring wouldn't be too terribly far off. Sansa loved the rebirth of the coming season when flowers would bloom and new life would be sprouting everywhere. At the ranch, things were getting busier but it was mostly routine...with a couple of exceptions. 

The other night, Loras had told her and Jon he planned to move into town and start helping Renly at the hotel more as business was booming. It had never been intended that his residence at the Rose would be permanent. Before he'd arrived, she'd even hoped to see the back of him as soon as possible. She no longer felt that way and he'd be missed on the ranch and at her table. He had come out here to learn something of horse ranching but that had been Willas' passion, not his. Sansa wished him well, saying her and Jon would forever consider The Stag the finest hotel that ever was and hoped they'd enjoy their 'working' relationship. 

_"A good partner is very welcome in business and can be the greatest of comforts, I believe,"_ she'd told Loras whilst grasping Jon's hand. It was the closest she'd come to openly admitting any knowledge of the nature of Loras and Renly's relationship. It was a pity but an open avowal was unlikely with some hateful folks being the way they were.

_"Thank you, Sansa, for all your kindness and thank you, Jon, for all you've helped me unlearn and learn again when it comes to horses. I am happier to be here and with him than I ever would've been remaining back east and pretending to be something I'm not." _

As for the other exception, when another person is fading from our daily lives, someone else steps in.

Mr. Tallhart might be short a hand at the mill before long as Mychel had been spending more of his time at the ranch than anywhere else of late. Having discussed the matter with Jon, Sansa figured she could take on another hand with Mya’s blessing. She had readily given it with the condition that Mychel would be sleeping in the bunkhouse for the time being.

_“He can save his rent at the boarding house staying here but he ain’t welcome in my bed just yet.”_

Sansa had nodded, figuring Mychel still had some work to do if he hoped to win Mya’s heart once more. However, when Mya said he wasn’t welcome in _her_ bed, Sansa hadn’t realized she was referring to just the one bed in particular. 

“What’re you boys doing out here? I thought you’d be getting ready,” she said coming out on the porch with Micah on her hip to find Pod and Wex just sitting. 

“Uh…Mya came down to the bunkhouse to pay a call on Mychel. Figured we’d skin out for a bit,” Pod said with an uneasy look.

“Were they quarreling?”

“No, they weren’t quarreling,” he answered as his cheeks grew red. “At least, I don’t think quarreling was the plan when we left ‘em.”

“What does that mean?” 

Wex made a crude gesture that she might’ve chastised him over if she wasn’t suddenly overcome with the giggles. Knowing Mya's rather ardent temperament, Sansa couldn't say she was all that surprised either.

“I see,” she said when her giggling ended before adding more soberly, “Well, it’s almost time to ride into town.” 

Rodrik had offered to hitch up the wagon but Sansa had declined, choosing to ride with her husband instead. Pod, Wex and Loras rode with them. Mya, Mychel, Beth and Rodrik had chosen to remain at the ranch.

Jon held her tight on Licorice, the steady clip-clop of the horse's hooves lulling her thoughts to more pleasant things than where they were headed…until they reached the outskirts of town. 

The inquiry over the events from that horrible night had been held and the circuit judge had sentenced the Frey boy at last. _"The guilty shall be hung by the neck until dead and may God have mercy on your soul,"_ he'd said before the gavel had banged and she'd had to stifle a yelp. 

Sansa thought a hanging must be a very grim matter for one and all but you wouldn’t know it riding into Silverhill today. People were everywhere. Mychel had said Mr. Tallhart was letting the millworkers knock off early as if it was some sort of holiday seeing a man, or boy in this case, die. Apparently, he wasn't the only employer who felt that way. 

She had never expected to witness a hanging in her lifetime. For better or worse, her daddy had always kept his girls well away from the more distasteful elements of his position as a judge. She found the whole business upsetting but, as the owner of the ranch and one of the people threatened by Ramsay and his posse, she'd had to appear at the inquiry and she realized there was some expectation that she’d appear today. Also, Jon had been directly asked to come by the sheriff in case there were any last minute objections or pleas and the guilty party’s role in things came into question. She wanted to support her husband though she knew he didn't much want her at this.

They tied up the horses outside of Brienne’s saloon and Jon helped her down from Licorice, holding her hand as they made their way towards the raised platform that was used for such matters to provide a better view for spectators. The bile rose in her throat at the thoughts of anyone actually _wanting_ to watch this. She felt a bit like there was a noose around her own neck to see that rope dangling there ominously. 

“When the reverend finishes speaking, turn into me,” Jon murmured in her ear.

“Won’t that be considered cowardly of me?” 

“Not by me, it won’t." He ducked his chin and made her look at him. "Didn't I already tell you you're one of the bravest people I've ever met?" He had. He'd told her that long before they'd so much as kissed. "Witnessing an execution ain't what makes a person brave, Sansa. I know you’ve come here because you think you’ve got to and because of me but you don’t have to watch if you don't wanna. It ain’t a pleasant sight.”

“It’ll be over quick, won’t it?”

“Quick enough for us, maybe not quick enough for him. Hopefully, the fall will break his neck.”

“If not?”

“It ain’t a pleasant sight,” he repeated before kissing her gloved hand. 

Some fellow was standing on the platform, making jests of all things as if he was warming up the crowd for a medicine man's show or a farce to be performed. Her stomach started recoiling. She was growing truly nauseated. She’d be embarrassed to retch here in the street. What would everyone say? 

Loras stood on the other side of her, his expression serious. Mr. Baratheon joined them silently, merely tipping his hat politely to her. She was nervous. She couldn't imagine how it'd feel to be the one fixing to be hung. 

Jon was saying something to Pod and Wex, likely giving them similar advice to what he’d just told her. She heard a bellow of laughter from somewhere in the gathering crowd nearby and looked angrily towards the source. 

“Sometimes, we laugh at things that ain’t funny to ignore the horror of circumstances,” Jon whispered, his arm coming around her waist. His touch was a comfort that she needed right now. 

She nodded, thinking he might be right. All the same, she pulled her shawl up around her shoulders tighter and was glad for the bonnet which concealed her from the overly curious. 

The Courthouse clock struck noon and the condemned and his jailers walked out. Edd’s face was inscrutable as he led them but Jon had told her the other night that he’d been more dour than usual when they’d spoken after the inquiry. She spied Mr. Bolton walking with them, talking with the sheriff, and a ripple of unease passed through her.

“Any last words, Walder?” the sheriff asked the boy once he was standing at the front of the platform.

The crowd leaned forward to hear his quivering words. “I’m sorry for my part in things. I didn’t mean to get mixed up with ‘em. I wouldn’t’ve hurt nobody if it were up to me.” 

He sounded so young, vulnerable and frightened, just a boy. If she looked at Wex or Pod, she'd cry. Actually, that might be unavoidable. Jon’s arms surrounded her as tears filled her eyes. This was justice but it didn’t feel like the right person was suffering. A vengeful part of her hoped Ramsay was in agony while he burned in hell for all eternity.

Mrs. Frey started whimpering and Sansa’s heart felt like there was a great gash in it. What if that was her son? Or her husband? He'd been the one person to seem sorry to even be there that night and it'd come out during the inquiry that Ramsay had put them up to loosing her horses the night of the dance to give Mrs. Tyrell a fright. He even held up his scarred hand to show where Ghost had bit him that night. _But a person's actions can define the course of their lives and he's made more than one poor decision_. 

The assembled onlookers grew quieter still and she could hear the little adjustments that the hangman was making. Edd stood off to the side beside Reverend Chayle who was reciting a prayer. When he finished speaking, she turned into her husband as he’d told her to. He was right. This was not a test of her bravery and she didn't want to see it.

But she did see something. 

Roose Bolton had moved away from the sheriff and was standing directly behind herself and Jon. His eyes were on her husband and not the platform. His son had had those same pale eyes and it gave her a jolt. Was she imaging that look of hatred, of calculating malevolence in those eyes? 

A sound like a door banging open and a loud grunt followed. The crowd exhaled as one and there were noises, noises she’d rather not recall. His neck had not been broken by the fall. 

“_Shhh_, won’t take long,” Jon muttered and she didn’t know who he was trying to reassure more; her, himself or the one being hung. 

She closed her eyes and told herself to focus on the fact this would soon be over and remember how glad she was to have everyone alive and safe after the awful events of that night. 

But when she opened her eyes, Mr. Bolton was still staring at Jon and a fretful voice within whispered that this might not be over yet.

* * *

March had arrived with a blizzard but, as the month was now nearing its end, they were being treated to far more pleasant weather. Jon had hinted that he wanted to treat his wife to a picnic soon and the romantic inside her could’ve swooned at the prospect. 

However, the Golden Rose was busier than ever this time of year. The Hornwood’s ranch had found itself in dire-straights financially over the winter and folded. Though Sansa felt sympathy for them on a personal level, she could hardly have passed up the opportunity to buy what she could of their best stock with Jon’s advice during the auction. 

It had made her nervous to be sure, calling out bids while being the only woman present. Usually, Rodrik had made these trips with her and done the bidding. Jon had been by her side but he’d encouraged her to be the one to bid. 

_“It’ll always be your ranch, darling, and the success of it is largely due to your hard work. These men oughta know that and respect it.”_

_“I don’t know that some of them ever will.”_

_“Maybe not but nothing says my wife can’t change their minds…if they’ve got a lick of sense anyhow.”_

In the end, she’d found it exhilarating and been breathless when she’d won the final bid against Roose Bolton, no less. He’d given her an amiable nod when she’d been declared the owner of the fine filly in question. Whatever personal enmity there might be over Jon killing the son he’d cast aside, Mr. Bolton seemed not to be holding any grudges today and maybe she’d been worrying needlessly at the hanging. She’d like to believe that anyway. 

On the ranch itself, there were two more foals due anytime and folks had been coming ‘round nearly daily to look at the stock or line up studs for their mares who were coming into heat. Mychel had been hired on full time once more and Sansa suspected neither the Golden Rose nor Mya would lose him to goldrush fever or anything else ever again. With so much happening, Sansa was even contemplating taking on another hand. 

But today, she had other business to attend to of a more personal nature. She was nervous in a completely different manner than she’d been at the auction but it was a good sort of nervousness, too. 

Looking back, her appetite had been poorly the past few weeks especially during breakfast. She’d thought she was only growing tired of salted pork since they’d not had much fresh meat during the winter. She had been sick a time or two but dismissed it as a wintertime malady like her runny nose from a few weeks ago. Jon had not been present when she'd been ill and he’d not noticed how little she was eating being as he was always busy eating heartily along with the others and she made conversation to cover her light appetite. 

When she’d first married Willas, she’d kept a religious record of her monthly courses in her mind. Over time, as no child had been conceived, she’d started to take less note of it to ease the gnawing anxiety that perhaps God would never grant them children. After Willas' death, she’d told herself that was indeed His plan and she'd known a powerful ache at the thought that maybe it would never be true for her at all. 

But then Jon had come into her life and changed all that. They’d been so busy though enjoying their blossoming marriage and the pleasures of their nocturnal activities that she’d not dwelt overly long on the potential outcome of it.

However, when she’d been doing the wash with Beth the day before yesterday and the girl had been grumbling about getting the blood out of her unmentionables and rags, Sansa had realized it’d been several weeks since she had bled herself. 

She’d whispered her suspicions to Mya who’d agreed with her and encouraged her to go see the doctor. 

_“And Jon. Tell him.”_

_“I will…once I know if I am.”_ Mya had given her a look. “_I don’t wish to excite his hopes prematurely. And if I should be mistaken or if the baby is not meant to be…”_

_“He'd want to know all the same, Sansa. You think he'd not notice your heartbreak if you lost a baby?”_

Sansa had bit her lip. Mya was right. Jon would want to know either way and she would want to share her joy or lean on him for comfort if, God forbid, that was needed. She'd just like to feel a little bit more sure she was correct in her belief first. 

Jon was busy out in the far pasture with Mychel and Pod today so she’d asked Rodrik to hitch up the wagon for a trip into town, claiming she had some matters to see to there and wanted a bit more gold thread to finish her sampler that was nearly done at last. She then asked Wex to drive her and they rode to town side by side, Sansa chattering away to distract herself from her nervousness and Wex smiling or nodding accordingly but mostly focused on the team pulling them. She knew he'd be heading off to buy some licorice whips while he was there, too. 

The visit with Doc Luwin was far quicker than she’d anticipated. After a brief exam and a few questions, he’d merely confirmed that he was of the same opinion as herself and that time would tell. They’d looked back through his calendar until she’d recalled the day she believed she’d last bled. He’d advised her to eat what she could tolerate and rest when she needed it, warning her that she’d probably feel a great deal of fatigue in the coming weeks but that it was expected. He’d then told her to pay him a call next month to see how she was faring.

Walking out of his office, she felt that same heady sense of exhilaration, just like at the auction, but it was heightened by emotion. Those blasted happy tears would not leave her be but this was so much more than acquiring a new horse. Her and Jon would be parents. They’d be a little family of their own. They'd have a little son or daughter named Snow and Micah would have a playmate. They'd be…

“You alright, ma’am?”

She gasped to find Deputy Tollett standing before her and was immediately embarrassed to realize there were a good deal of those happy tears wetting her cheeks right here in town. _You likely look a mess. _

She cleared her throat, hastily wiped at her eyes and gave him a sunny smile. “I am well, deputy. I thank you for your concern. It’s just the sun shining in my eyes and…” She trailed off, unable to finish her fabricated excuse.

Edd tipped his hat back and tilted his head upwards to take a look. “It’s mighty bright up there today, ain’t it? Blinding all of us who’ve been looking forward to seeing it again. That’s what always happens when I look forward to anything. It winds up biting me in the, uh…I reckon it thinks we won’t mind being blinded a bit.” 

She started giggling at his humor even as she continued her sniffling. He looked away bashfully but plucked out a handkerchief from his vest for her to use. It was a touch grimy but she readily took it, only thinking maybe he could use some fresher ones. _Does anyone ever make you anything?_ “Thank you, deputy.” 

“You can call me Edd. Jon does,” he shrugged. 

“Alright, Edd. I hope you’ll call me Sansa.”

“Gladly, ma'am...I mean, Sansa." He grinned sheepishly and he really was a kind man. "Was you needing to escape this cruel old March sun and rest a spell? Maybe have a cool drink and some shade?”

He had her laughing again. “I would like that. I think a glass of lemonade at the Smoking Log would set me up admirably and that’s where I'm supposed to meet Wex anyway.”

"Well, then..." He offered his arm in a gentlemanly gesture and she gladly accepted. 

As they walked and talked, her good opinion of him only grew. She was sure he would see Jon’s side if there was ever any trouble that came up from his past. 

When they reached the saloon, he led her to a table and a young lady came to take their order. Sansa recognized her as one of the young women who’d attended her wedding reception, played the piano and sang carols with her. She’d even caught her bouquet. What was her name? 

“Good day, Mrs. Snow. Good day to you, deputy.” 

She’d practically purred that greeting to him and Tollett’s cheeks were quite flushed. Once the greetings were concluded and their order taken, Sansa watched her walk over to the bar and then turned back to Edd. 

“I hope you don’t take no offense to Alyce, ma’am.”

“Offense? Why would I?”

“I know a lady such as yourself probably don’t rub shoulders with doves but Brienne hired her to wait tables. She's got a pretty voice and sings some nights, too. She says she’s all done with, uh…” Her eyes had widened in surprise by this point. Tollett scratched his chin and muttered, “Shit. Maybe I'm running my damn mouth more than I should've. I’m apologize for...”

“No, it’s alright. Was she one of the girls from the Peach? Pod has been friendly with some of them.” Her cheeks started getting hot no sooner than the words were out of her mouth. “I mean that in a strictly, they are friends sort of way.”

Tollett chuckled and bobbed his head. “I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who gets tongue-tied upon occasion.”

“I think that’s true of all of us."

"She used to work there but she's wanting something better."

"I hope she’ll be happier working here. She has a lovely voice.”

“Me, too and she does. But it’s hard for some folks to overlook a person’s past sometimes."

"I’m sure it’ll help having an understanding person like you as a friend, Edd.” She pondered her next words carefully. “It isn’t right to hold a person’s past against them, especially when they may have had very little say in some of the decisions they were forced to make…or when they might’ve not done anything wrong in the first place.”

If Edd was attending her words though, Sansa couldn’t tell. Alyce had returned with their drinks. She gave Sansa a friendly smile when she passed her the lemonade but her smile was different, softer and more wistful when she sat down Edd's and murmured, “One sarsaparilla.”

Sansa took a sip of her lemonade, relishing it's tartness and made up her mind. “You know…I really meant to ask Brienne about something. Edd, I hope you’ll forgive me if I excuse myself a moment? Alyce, if you’re not too busy, I’m sure the deputy would enjoy having someone to talk to since I’m shamefully running off on him.”

They both nodded her direction but their eyes were on each other. Sansa picked up her lemonade, pleased with herself and life in general as she made her way to the bar.

“You setting up folks now, Sansa?” Brienne asked with a wry grin.

She took another sip of her lemonade, smacking her lips with delight. “You know, Jon bought me that syrup for Christmas but I’ve still not been able to get the mixture quite right to match yours.”

Brienne looked very pleased by that. “You will. And fresh spring water from the melts makes it taste even better in my opinion.”

“Oh, I’ll have to try that. And, no, I’m not playing matchmaker...not really. I could though,” she said with a giddy smile as she cast a look back over here shoulder at Edd and Alyce. She’d already been long forgotten by the pair, she was sure. “Should I set you up, Brienne?” She’d meant it playfully but her heart ached at her friend’s crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry, Brienne. I was only teasing. I didn’t mean to inflict any pain.”

“I know you didn’t, Sansa, and there ain’t any pain really," she said gruffly as she continued to wipe down the same glass she'd just wiped down. "I let my head get turned by the wrong man and I should’ve known better.”

She looked around and lowered her voice. “I’m sure Mr. Baratheon didn’t intend to lead you on.”

“No, he didn’t. He was friendly and it was nice having a man talk to me who seemed to...well, really see me as a person."

"Of course, you're a person, Brienne. Why wouldn't he see you as such?"

Brienne grimaced. "Sansa, you're a very beautiful woman and...I don't know if you'd understand what it's like for a woman like me. It's better out here anyway. They accept me for how I am anyhow."

Her parents had always told her to put herself in the other person's boots when she could and Sansa felt foolish. She knew many considered Brienne plain and that she'd suffered some unkind words over it. When she'd been younger, she'd thought physical beauty was a hallmark of a person's true character in some ways herself. But it'd been so long since she'd outgrown those notions and the day she'd met Brienne, she'd noted her pretty blue eyes and kind smile. It had been most welcome to a girl far from home and newly married to a stranger. And as they'd become better acquainted, she'd come to think of Brienne as one of the most honorable and gracious people she could name. 

"I'm sorry, Brienne. And I think I understand what you're trying to say. Men look at me like a pretty talking doll sometimes. Even Willas did not always hide his surprise at finding me intelligent. Folks place too much emphasis on a woman's looks and there's so many wonderful things to know and appreciate about you. You're a lovely person."

Brienne's grimace faded. "Thank you, Sansa. I did like him," she added in a low voice. "He was handsome and for the first time, a handsome feller seemed to want to talk to me. I realized after seeing him with Mr. Tyrell a couple of times that I’d misunderstood some things. I should’ve known a man opening a door for a woman was just him showing good manners and didn't mean anything more than that.”

"I believe there are other men besides Mr. Renly who would enjoy speaking to you and showing you courtesy." The doors opened just then and Sansa recognized the good-natured bellowed greeting behind her as Tormund's as Brienne groaned. "Why don't you like him? I'm not saying you've got to but has he done something to earn your poor opinion?"

"No. I just don't know what to make of him," she answered, her posture already growing stiff as he was making his way towards them. 

“I don’t think he means any harm. I think he’s sweet on you.”

“Why? Am I a curiosity? Is it a challenge in his mind? To lay with a woman who's taller than most men?"

"Surely not."

"He’s been inflicting his rather unasked for attentions on me since the night we met. He's not all bad but then he makes these remarks and...stares. It makes me uncomfortable and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Sansa frowned, suddenly concerned that her friend’s concerns could be valid although that hardly seemed like Tormund. "Do you truly dislike him? Do you want him to leave you alone?" she asked as he was drawing nearer.

"No, he's alright when he's not making those ridiculous moony faces at me. I'm not saying I'm interested but I could see myself...maybe...if he'd be a little less...but what does he even want from me?"

Tormund bellied up to the bar, slapping down a silver piece and asking for a whiskey before waggling his eyebrows at Brienne. Brienne sighed, mumbling that she needed to fetch a fresh bottle from the back. 

Once she was gone, Sansa tossed back the last of her lemonade and did something rather unusual for her. "Tormund Giantsbane, is there something the matter with your eyes?"

"Uh...no."

"Then could you please stop all that winking and waggling and uncouth staring when you're talking to a lady?"

"I, uh..." He fingered his collar uncomfortably. "I suppose I could."

"And would you tell me what your intentions are regarding my dear friend?"

"Well, I..."

"Because while Brienne is a treasure far greater than anything you've found in that mine of yours, she is not a prize to be claimed either."

"I didn't think she..."

"Good. Now, let's chat about the proper way to court a lady and how to gracefully accept a dismissal if the lady in question is not interested, shall we?" 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like many of you, I love Edd, Tormund and Brienne and I basically want all our good people to be happy by the end of this story. My personal issue with the Brienne/Tormund thing created by the show is how clearly one-sided it was and used as comic relief while entirely unconcerned with the woman's discomfort with the man's unwanted attention. So, I'm trying to rectify that here but we'll see what happens beyond that. 
> 
> Next chapter, we'll see if Jon finds out about Sansa's trip to see Doc Luwin (safe money to bet yes here) and also maybe a hint of what that slippery snake Roose Bolton might be up to. I also feel like I need to write some more Jonsa smut maybe (?). Sorry, not sorry... 
> 
> And now a very self-indulgent author's note...
> 
> I've got two more things I'm posting this week (new Career Day fic and a Jonsa Holiday exchange fic) but I wanted to go ahead and wish all of you a happy and peaceful holiday season. I've been sharing my stories here for over three years now and I appreciate all of you who read, kudo, bookmark and subscribe but want to give a very big THANK YOU to those of you who take the time to leave kind/encouraging comments, especially on ongoing stories. It means so much to me and helps keep me inspired! I don't think I'll ever be completely done writing Jonsa but it's you guys who keep me posting my works here. 
> 
> That being said, I'm taking a posting hiatus over the holidays. I hope to share more of life on the Golden Rose (and my other stories as well as new things) in 2020. Cheers!


	24. Jon

The days were growing noticeably longer but Jon’s stomach was too well trained by months of enjoying regular mealtimes to be fooled. It knew when suppertime was nearing.

He told Mychel and Pod to get a wiggle on and let Licorice break into a gallop on their way back to the stable from the far pasture. Pod whooped and called it a race. Maybe it was a race. Or maybe the horses knew when it was quitting time, too. 

“You’re a good horse,” Jon said, rubbing the animal down once they reached his stall. Licorice whickered and nudged at his vest pocket. “A smart one, too, though maybe a touch spoiled,” he teased before he pulled out a sugar cube. As long as Sansa wasn’t going short on them for her tea or coffee, he supposed he could go on treating Licorice to one for every day he didn’t throw him on his ass.

He became aware of the fact he was being observed when he heard a high-pitched whine from behind him and started chuckling.

“You’re still my favorite four-legged critter so no need getting all jealous,” he called over his shoulder. Ghost padded closer and Jon knelt to scratch his ears and give him several affectionate pats. “I ain’t got any sugar cubes for you, boy, but I’ll bring you something tasty from the table after supper,” he promised just as the dinner bell started clanging on the back porch.

His mouth started watering on cue and his grin widened as he turned towards the house after washing up at the pump. “What’s for supper, Beth?” he asked the girl as she was hurrying out to fetch the day’s wash from the line.

“I nearly forgot these!” she said breathlessly before answering his question. “Sansa was late getting back from town so she said we’d just have the last of the ham with potatoes and cornbread tonight.”

“Late getting back from town?”

"Yes."

He started to ask why Sansa had been in town in the first place but bit his tongue. Beth was preoccupied with the wash and maybe Sansa had mentioned something this morning and he’d not been attending like he should. That was likely. Sansa had accused him of not always listening so well when they were in bed together. He tried to listen to her. He _did_ listen to her when it came to things that really mattered but trips to the mercantile or bank couldn’t hold his attention long when his wife was in his arms wearing little to nothing.

And sure enough this morning he’d been rather preoccupied trying to figure out ways to keep her in bed, wanting them both to ignore the rooster’s crowing. He’d been pretty successful until she’d heard Mya hollering at Beth to get up. It was then that Duty, that coldhearted taskmaster, had won at last, dragging them both from their warm quilts.

“Ham and potatoes sounds good to me and I’ll never say no to her cornbread.”

Beth nodded absently and he held the door for her as she carried in the basket of wash before going to set the table for the others who’d soon join them.

He pulled off his hat and coat, hanging them on the pegs by the back door and then rounded the corner quietly to peek at his wife who was busy in the kitchen still. He smelled his supper and his belly did a flip, rumbling loudly. She didn’t hear it though. She wore a thoughtful look as she was cutting up the cornbread. Her hair was pulled back in a bun with a few tendrils hanging loose. She’d already changed out of her town clothes and into one of her more usual working dresses.

She looked tired and he hoped her burdens were not too great today. She hadn’t been out in the far pasture working horses with him but he didn’t fool himself into thinking his work was any harder than hers. Physically, it _was_ hard work and could certainly try a man’s patience and strength, leaving him with aching muscles or other pains.

But Sansa’s day began before his most days and ended well after between the cooking, the cleaning up, the washing and mending of everyone’s clothes, with butter to churn and food to preserve, tending the cow and chickens along with watching over Micah all day when Mya was working as well as all the ranch’s various business related tasks that she handled as cleverly as anybody could. She was a wonder to him and he’d told her so more than once.

And their trials had been plenty the past six weeks or so what with the fright Micah gave them and then Ramsay and his men, the hanging of the Frey boy and her worrying over the inquiry and everything. No great surprise that she’d seemed a little run down of late, the dark circles under her eyes hinting that he should probably urge her on to bed early tonight. _And don't keep her up half the night when you join her, you animal_. 

She started humming something under her breath as she worked, a trail song of all things that made him recall his days driving cattle and gathering around the chuckwagon at meal times. Jon had never been in charge of the chuckwagon. That was the cook’s job. Three-Fingered Hobb had been friendly and generous with his friends, liked by everyone. He’d also been willing to show a wet-behind-the-ears wrangler a thing or two in exchange for the tobacco Jon had never developed a taste for and the younger man had learned to appreciate that filling the empty bellies of thirty or more men was no mean task. But Hobb’s endless kettles of beans, dried meat and hard tack could never compare to Sansa’s table.

_“You feed us like kings,”_ he’d once told her.

She’d laughed and shook her head. _“It’s just plain fare.”_

_“Plain is nothing but dried pork, dry beans and hard crackers soaked in water to keep you from breaking a tooth on ‘em and then mashed together served morning, noon and night for a month.”_

_“Three meals a day of the same for a month?”_ she’d asked, astounded…and horrified.

_“Uh huh. You feed us like kings.”_

She’d not argued with him after that.

Eggs, ham or bacon at breakfast. Beefsteak, roasted pork or fried chicken for supper. Always with fresh biscuits or cornbread and buttermilk. His mouth would water just thinking of it. Honey and jam on the table with breakfast. Boiled potatoes slathered in butter and seasoned greens or root vegetables were served on the side at supper. Sansa’s beans were never hard enough to break a man’s tooth and generally served up with rice and spices to make them flavorful. And as long as she had sugar and fresh or preserved fruits on hand, there’d be a sweet on Sundays, pie or cobbler mostly.

Whatever she’d been doing in town late, supper was ready like always and, to beat all, she’d baked a pie even though it wasn't Sunday. He spied is sitting on the windowsill and could smell the baked apples. His belly not only rolled over again but his heart clenched up the way it did when Sansa fixed his favorite sweet. He was always inexplicably touched by that. _I guess what they say about men’s stomachs being the way to their hearts ain’t all hogwash._

She was still humming but now it sounded more like a lullaby, something she'd sing to Micah when he was fretful. As he stood there quietly watching his wife and listening to her humming, the lullaby woke something in his mind, something that sent all thoughts of pie away.

He was holding her hand beneath a sunny sky, out in the yard between the clotheslines. He could hear childish laughter surrounding them, a hint of mischievousness in it, and the owners of those little voices were hidden from view behind the sheets blowing in the breeze. And when he looked to his darling, she was smiling up at him with that same breeze blowing the loose tendrils of her red hair. Her eyes were as blue as the sky above and filled with joy. Joy filled him as well when his eyes swept downward to her belly which was round with child. _"Not long now,"_ she whispered to him. 

He expelled a great breath, his mind’s eye revealing nothing but the kitchen once more as the daydream faded. She turned at the sound, smiling at once. “Jon! I didn’t hear you come in.” 

She was so beautiful and she was his wife. And that fantasy? Was that their future he was seeing? Once upon a time, he’d have thought it nothing but a fanciful wish. Now? He knew it could be real for him someday. He knew he wanted it, too. God, he wanted it more than anything.

A veil of tears started to form, emotion carrying him away, and concern etched her brow as she crossed towards him. The backdoor opened and he could hear Beth greeting Pod, Mychel and Wex. He shook off his emotions and smiled at her. He needed to collect himself so he wouldn’t be bawling when everyone was coming in for supper.

“I missed you today, wife. How are you?” he asked, tenderly brushing her soft cheek with his work-roughened hand.

“I missed you, too. I am well...surprisingly well,” she told him with a slight blush. _Why surprisingly? _ “And you?”

“I’m fine and dandy. What’d you do today?”

“A lot of this and that around here until I took a trip into town.”

“What for?”

She bit her lip, her cheeks turning pinker. “I’ll tell you the purpose of my trip a little later, husband, but I met Edd Tollett in town and we shared a drink at the Smoking Log and then I spoke with Brienne and Tormund while I was there. Would you care to hear of that over supper?”

“Of course,” he answered though he was perplexed by the first part of her response.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to learn anything about her trip into town during supper. Rodrik came in just as everyone was finding their seats, a grim look on his face.

“Where you been, Daddy?” Beth asked.

“Out at your Cousin Jory’s place, checking on his mare for him. I learned some unpleasant news while I was there, I’m afraid.”

“About the mare?” 

“No, child.”

Everyone looked up expectantly, curious to know what was troubling Rodrik or what he’d learnt. Jon could tell the old man hated to be the bearer of bad news but he didn’t know how a visit to his nephew’s place could bring bad news to them here unless…

Dread filled him. Had his nephew ever been to Kansas? Did he know somebody who had? Had something come out about him? Was that earlier daydream only a dream that could never be for him?

But Rodrik was not looking at Jon when he spoke at last. He put his hand on Pod’s shoulder. “Come out on the porch with me, son.”

* * *

“Darling? You alright?” Jon called anxiously through the door a week later. He’d heard her coughing and now it sounded like she was retching up her breakfast.

“I’m fine,” she answered in a wane voice after several seconds had passed.

“Sansa…”

“Please, check on Pod and see if he’s ready. I’ll be along shortly.”

Frustrated, Jon threw on his hat and coat but would do as she asked though worry was eating at him. She’d been uncommonly tired lately and now she was sick for the second time in as many days. Was she coming down with a cold or some other malady? Should he take her to see Luwin? But Sansa was a sensible woman even if she was a little stubborn sometimes. If she was seriously ill, she’d tell him, wouldn’t she?

Beth was hanging out the day’s wash as he strode towards the bunkhouse…and she was crying. She hated for anyone to be hurting, Jon knew, but she’d mostly been dry-eyed, sticking by Pod like glue since Rodrik had come home last week and doing her best to be a steadfast friend to him.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, brushing away her tears.

He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets. He never knew what to say when he asked a girl if she was alright when she clearly wasn’t and she proceeded to say that she was fine. It seemed like a test he was doomed to fail nine times out of ten. With his wife, it was one thing and he’d find a way to get Sansa to talk to him eventually. With Beth, he figured maybe he should just hush up about her tears she was pretending weren’t there.

“You seen Pod?”

“He’s in there.” She pointed towards the barn. “At least, he was a little while ago. He told me…he said for me to leave him alone,” she finished quietly, her chin trembling. He sighed and regretted she’d got her feelings hurt as the tears started sliding down her rosy, round cheeks again. “I didn’t mean to be so…” She swallowed hard. “…annoying.”

She was a sweet girl and he strongly suspected her and Pod were starting to nurse feelings for each other beyond friendship. But Pod was stubborn and prideful about crying in front of others, especially Beth, Jon knew from experience. And, young men could act like first rate jackasses when they weren't sure how to handle their emotions.

“You ain’t annoying and I’ll bet he didn’t really mean it. C’mere.”

Without hesitation, she stumbled into his arms with a shuddering sob, a sniffling, snotty mess for certain. He didn’t mind truly but he felt a little out of his depth as he awkwardly patted her back and murmured a bunch of nonsense that he hoped would sooth her. He wondered where Rodrik was or Sansa or Mya even. Hell, maybe Ghost would come to take a looksee at what was the matter and cheer her up again.

He saw Mychel and Wex coming up from the bunkhouse. They took one look at the pair of them, heard Beth’s sobbing and made a wide circuit around the house to head to the corral. _Cowards_.

Once she’d exhausted her tears though and been reassured that she’d done absolutely nothing wrong in trying to comfort her friend, Jon decided she could use a distraction. _And maybe it’ll help relieve my mind a little._

“Would you check on Sansa for me? I think she’s coming down sick or something but she says she’s fine. Will you see if she’ll tell you anything? Maybe suggest she go and see Luwin while we’re in town?”

“Sure, I will. Thank you, Jon.”

She shyly kissed his cheek before scurrying off, happy to go take care of someone else since Pod had rudely pushed her away earlier. Jon didn’t believe Pod really wanted to be rude to her at all. In fact, he suspected he’d be kicking himself for speaking to Beth that way soon if he wasn’t already. He was just having a hard time with this news, harder than he’d admitted thus far.

Pod’s uncle had been found dead at his place the day Rodrik had visited his nephew Jory and come home to tell the boy. At first, he’d seemed to take it in stride. He’d returned to the table after Rodrik had told him and let everyone know and then ate his supper like usual.

Sansa had been worried but Jon hadn’t been at the time. He’d be fairly indifferent to Viserys’ death if he ever learnt of it, he thought. He honestly didn’t know if his daddy’s brother was still above snakes or not. He didn’t much care either.

But a few days ago, the sheriff had rode out to the ranch to formally inform Pod as the man’s next of kin of his uncle’s death and bring some other information.

_“I’m surprised he made it through winter out there alone at his place and drinking that rot gut liquor of his. On the bright side, looks like you’ll be inheriting yourself a spot of land and some hogs, boy,”_ Karstark had chuckled.

Pod had looked at him in confusion and, if Jon wanted to hazard a guess, he’d say that’s when the guilt had started and a riot of emotions had started plaguing him.

His uncle had been buried two days ago. Sansa had called upon Reverend Chayle to say a few words and Jon had paid the undertaker to see that the body got properly planted. Sansa wouldn’t like him speaking so callously about it but he had a hard time summoning much sympathy for the dead man.

Today, they were taking Pod into town to look into any debts that might be hanging over his uncle’s estate before he decided what to do about it. Sansa had found a young attorney who was new to town to go over the papers with them. Apparently, the whole matter might’ve been weighing on Pod more than Jon had realized.

“Pod? You in here?” he called when he entered the barn.

Bessie was placidly chewing her cud, blinking at him, and a tale-tell sniffle confirmed his suspicion that Pod was up in the loft.

He climbed the ladder to the loft and found him.

“I don’t want his place,” Pod said as Jon joined him. He’d brought a horse blanket up to sit on. Jon wondered if it was the same one from his own visit up here with Sansa on Christmas Eve and decided that wasn’t what he needed to be thinking of right now.

“It’s your place now.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Doesn’t matter what we want sometimes. You can sell it or you can keep it, the choice is up to you but it’s yours. What are them hogs gonna do if no one takes ‘em?”

Pod’s brow furrowed. Jon knew he’d want to take care of the animals if nothing else. “I guess we could have some hogs here if Sansa don't mind."

"She won't...if that's what you choose to do."

"I hate that shack. Why would I wanna live there? It ain't much to bring a gal home to anyway and it's full of..."

"Bad memories," Jon said. It wasn't a question.

Pod nodded. "From the time I was ten, he was whipping me on the regular for any little mistake, saying I’d never be no good. Sometimes, he’d beat me for no reason at all it seemed.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Pod.”

“I hated him some nights.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“He was awful, a mean drunk and a miserable person.”

“Sounds a lot like my own uncle.”

“You know what it’s like then.”

“I know enough.”

“But he took me in when no one else would. He was…” Pod’s voice cracked as he finished. “He was the only blood I had left.”

_Blood ain’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes,_ Jon thought sourly.

Instead of saying that, he sat down and put an arm around the boy, letting the second person of the day cry on him. It wasn’t even noon yet. It didn’t stop him from murmuring a different version of those reassurances he’d given Beth earlier and holding him tightly. He didn’t mind this with Pod any more than he had with Beth. He’d never had any siblings that he knew of. He liked feeling like an older brother in truth.

Pod wiped his eyes. “I went out to his place the day after Christmas when you and Sansa were at Mr. Baratheon’s hotel for your honeymoon. I thought I should make peace with him with it being Christmas and all.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Y’all were so happy when you come back home from the hotel. I didn’t wanna spoil your joy any with my problems.”

“You can always tell me things that’s troubling you, Pod. I know Sansa feels the same. So, what happened?” He already knew this story didn’t have a happy ending.

“He threatened to shoot me.”

“He what?!”

“He didn’t have no gun. Probably hocked it for liquor. He said I was a sorry, ungrateful shit for running off and leaving him to fend for himself. He made it sound like I’d selfishly abandoned him, like I left an old man alone to die.”

“He was forty-six, not exactly as old as Methuselah.” Pod gave him a wavering grin. “You didn’t leave home because he was treating you so good either.”

“He made it sound like I owed him an apology but he was the one who beat me.”

“You didn’t owe him an apology, Pod.”

“If he’d just said sorry to me…just once, I’d have done anything for him.”

“If he’d said sorry to you even once, a feather could knock me over from the shock. Men like him don’t ever think they’re wrong. My uncle never did. And if he’d said sorry and you’d gone back to living there, he’d have wound up beating you again, Pod.”

“But he died all alone.”

“And he ain’t alone in that, I’m afraid. He made his choices, Pod. Stop blaming yourself for them. Now, Sansa’s gonna be waiting for us. Are you ready?”

Pod nodded and they climbed down from the loft. He gave Bessie a wary look, his witness to an unpleasant scene, no doubt. “I was unkind to Beth earlier,” he said pitifully.

“I know,” Jon said ruffling his hair.

“I was a real ass.”

“Go apologize. That’s one apology you certainly owe but I highly suspect she’ll forgive you...eventually.”

* * *

Their trip into town turned out to be an eventful one between meeting with the attorney, running into Edd and then Doc Luwin.

Pod’s business was fairly cut and dry from what Jon could make out of Sansa and the attorney’s discussion. There were some debts his uncle owed but, if Pod chose to sell off the little homestead, he’d not only pay them off but be left with a very handsome sum of money.

“Might come in handy someday but it’s your choice, Pod,” Jon reminded him.

Pod shrugged, obviously not prepared to decide today. They’d help him when he felt ready. For now, Jon decided he’d take Mychel, Wex and the wagon to fetch the hogs and cow so Pod wasn’t continuing to run hither and thither to see to them on his own. Bessie might get company in the barn but the hogs would need a pen.

“Thank you, Mr. Tarly, for all your help,” Sansa said as they left his office.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Snow,” the man politely replied but he shook his head when Jon offered him his fee. “It was such a simple matter really, sir. I wouldn’t feel right about taking that.”

Jon hadn’t ever heard of a lawyer not accepting money that was offered but then again, he didn’t know that many of them personally. And, Samwell Tarly was a bit of an enigma in town from the gossip Sansa had heard of him through Brienne.

Of an age with Jon, he’d arrived in Silverhill last month with his wife and young son. Folks had said his daddy was some big bug attorney back in St. Louis with his own law firm. Jon wondered what had spurred Mr. Tarly to come out here and open his own small practice in a silver mining town if his daddy owned one in a city like St. Louis. Maybe he’d find out since Sansa had promptly invited him and his wife and son to dine with them at the Stag one evening soon.

As for his meeting with Edd, Jon wasn’t sure what to think other than none of it sounded too good.

_“Do you trust Deputy Tollett? Enough to tell him?”_

_“I’d trust him with many things.”_

Once more, his conversation with Sansa from that night ran through his head. Should he tell Edd about Kansas? Especially if there was a chance certain things might come to light about him?

They’d run into the deputy at the Smoking Log after leaving the attorney’s office and Edd quietly told Jon while Sansa was busy talking with some saloon girl and Pod that Karstark was asking around about him.

“About me?” He hoped his friend didn’t hear that quaver in this voice.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“He don’t say to me. I guess he knows we’re friends. I just know he’s got some of the other fellers looking into it. I reckon this is all Mr. Bolton’s doing though.”

“Mr. Bolton,” Jon repeated, swallowing down the bile rising in this throat.

“Yeah.” Edd tugged uncomfortably at his collar before lowering his voice. “It ain’t much of a secret that my boss is bought and paid for and anything Mr. Bolton wants the sheriff to look into, gets looked into. And anything he wants swept under the rug, gets swept under, too.”

“I see.”

“I don't like it none," Edd said apologetically, "but...well, what can I do about it?"

_Maybe more than you think. _ But Jon understood Edd's hesitation. He knew about keeping his head down, too. 

"Anyway, as much as he seemed to detest that boy of his, Bolton’s carrying on to beat the band about his death amongst his little circle, including the sheriff. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“Well, I…”

“Now, don’t go getting all fretful. I’m a regular croaker by nature but you ain’t got nothing to worry about. You were cleared by the inquiry just as I knew you'd be. Karstark’s other men can ask around all they like. Won’t change nothing.”

_Won’t change my past either._

He didn’t know how much asking around they were doing or how far that asking around might extend. One thing was for sure, Jon didn’t believe Roose Bolton was suddenly overcome by sentiment for his dead son. He’d left Ramsay’s body to be disposed of in a potter’s field, giving it less attention than they’d given Pod’s uncle even.

_But he wants Sansa’s ranch._

Mychel had heard plenty working at the mill before he’d returned to the Golden Rose for good. Some man who’d worked for Bolton in the past had run his mouth a lot about how Tyrell’s pretty widow would’ve been better off selling to Mr. Bolton if she had any sense.

_“He always gets what he wants in the end,”_ the man had told Mychel.

_“He ain’t getting jack shit of hers,”_ Jon had angrily told Mychel when he’d repeated the tale. But it had troubled him all the same and now he knew that Bolton had the sheriff in his pocket and was looking into his past.

However, it was their final and unexpected meeting in town that was troubling Jon the most as he was driving the wagon back towards the ranch.

They’d never truly quarreled, not as a married couple and not before either. _Guess that can’t last forever_. The anger was boiling up inside him, leaving him half itching for the fight. He’d rather embrace his resentment at the moment than allow the dread and fear that were busily gnawing at his guts to take over.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you in town again so soon, Sansa. I’m glad to see your color’s better than last week,” Doc Luwin called out to her when they passed his office…and right before he noticed Jon. “Now, don’t be worrying overly much about her, Jon. It’s perfectly…”

“Thank you, Doctor, but it was just a case of the sniffles Micah had last week. I’m not fretting no more,” Sansa said quickly, cutting his flow and clearly wanting to get away.

The old man looked embarrassed and murmured an apology to Sansa before tipping his hat to them both and walking on.

“What was all that about?”

“Nothing important.”

“Nothing important?” he asked, incredulously. She winced. It was something important. “Why’d you see him last week?”

“I was just concerned about any lasting effects from Micah’s scarlet fever and asked the doctor some questions when I saw him here in town.”

“Then, why was he mentioning your color being better? And why was he telling me not to worry about you?”

She gulped, her eyes darting this way and that and he knew she hadn’t been completely honest.

He stopped walking, forcing her to stop as well and placed a finger under her chin, tipping it up. “Look at me.” When her eyes rose to meet his, he made his plea. “Tell me the truth.”

Her eyes were growing teary and he could feel his heart in his mouth. She jerked her chin away and started walking towards the wagon again. “Not here, Jon. Please?”

“Not here? What in the Sam Hill is this about, Sansa? What are you keeping from me?”

“Lower your voice and I’ll tell you once we’re home,” she replied anxiously, looking over her shoulder at Pod who was rapidly catching up to them.

What was this? What couldn’t Pod hear? Why had she not told him that she’d gone to see the doctor last week? Yes, they’d been busy dealing with Pod’s loss but why would she be keeping a secret from him?

Admittedly, they were surrounded by others much of their days but it wasn’t as if they’d not had a single moment alone. Hell, they laid next to each other every night…although Sansa was always snoring softly from the time her head hit the pillow until the rooster crowed lately.

Pod was silent on the seat behind them, oblivious to their discord while mulling over his choices probably. Sansa was by his side and kept shooting him looks, her eyes wide like a hare waiting on a wolf to snap his jaws and end its misery. To be honest, he was frustrated enough to snap at her.

He was angry, feeling betrayed and ready to tell Pod to borrow a horse and find his own way back so they could ride alone and he could get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Jon…”

Her sorrowful look and frightened murmur broke him. He couldn’t stay angry with her. But he did want to know.

“I thought we shared our burdens, wife,” a hint of reproach in his voice.

She ducked her chin, ashamed. “We do.”

He didn’t want her to feel shame. She was his wife, a very good wife who he adored. She’d had enough of feeling shame in the past, he feared.

He grasped her hand, adding affection to his tone this time. “I’ve things to tell you later about my talk with Edd but I’m telling myself its nothing serious. I hope you’ll share your burdens or any news with me when you’re ready.”

She smiled, the fear and shame gone now. “When we get home, will you take me on that picnic you mentioned?”

He’d thought to take her Sunday after church if the weather was fair. There was work waiting on the ranch for him after spending half his day in town. He didn’t know what a picnic had to do with her going to see the doctor or anything else. All the same, if she wanted that today, he’d give it to her.

“Of course, I will.”

* * *

Months ago, when loving Sansa had been the dearest wish of his heart and nothing more, he’d spied this picturesque grove of Blue Spruce by its fresh mountain stream and imagined bringing her here for a picnic and some privacy.

There was privacy aplenty and they’d spent their afternoon lounging upon a quilt, eating up the food and drink Sansa had packed them while enjoying the warmth of the early April sun as birds serenaded them.

He wouldn’t have been able to appreciate it though if she’d not shared her secret first.

No sooner than the house had faded from view, Sansa had squeezed his hand and said, _“No galloping, please. Keep Licorice at a walk for me.”_

She'd not changed into her split-legged riding skirt, choosing to ride sidesaddle and with him instead of on Lady. He'd liked the part of getting to hold her but also been regretting not seeing her in that riding skirt again. Her words had driven all his devilish thoughts away. _“Are you sick or hurting, darling? Is something the matter?”_

_"Nothing’s wrong with me, I promise, but it’s safer. Your wife won’t be racing along on horseback for many months, Mr. Snow.”_

It had only taken him a second or two to catch up then. _“Holy hell…you’re pregnant, ain’t you?”_

The sickness and fatigue made sense when he thought about it along with the numerous uninterrupted nights of carnal relations they'd enjoyed. He’d felt a fool for not guessing sooner but he supposed it wasn’t something that weighed heavily on most men’s minds like it might a woman’s.

_“I believe I am and so does Dr. Luwin. What do you think of that?”_ she’d asked, turning to look back over her shoulder at him with those same wide eyes and uncertainty as earlier.

_“What do I think?”_

He’d brought Licorice to a halt before cupping her sweet face and kissing her soundly. Then, he’d thrown his hat into the air and shouted his joy to the heavens before hugging her tight.

_“Easy, Mr. Snow,”_ she’d admonished though she’d been giggling at his antics.

_“Shit, I’m sorry,”_ he’d said sheepishly, releasing his death grip on her.

A baby. She was going to have a baby and he’d be a father. He’d be the best father he could be just like he hoped to be the best possible husband to her.

His joy had been spilling down his cheeks by the time they’d made it to their grove and spread out their quilt but Sansa had said nothing. She’d tenderly wiped away his happy tears along with her own and kissed his hand. He didn’t think he’d be good for anything else the rest of the day so it was just as well they’d chosen to spend their afternoon this way.

Worry wasn’t done with him, he knew. On top of whatever Bolton and Karstark were up to, childbirth could be a dangerous matter. He’d fret over his wife and their growing child something fierce the next several months. _No, I’ll fret over them forever, I suppose._ But today, celebration was the order of the day.

They took a walk after they’d finished eating and he picked her the first of spring’s wildflowers. There weren’t that many yet but Sansa was pleased when he handed them to her.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Not near so beautiful as you.” He kissed her neck and rested one hand on her hip while placing the other gently upon her flat belly. “When?”

“Autumn, near Thanksgiving or before, I believe.”

“We’ll be parents by the time we reach our first anniversary.”

“We will. Is that alright?”

“Everything about this is alright, darling. More than alright.”

She gave him a radiant smile before continuing. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was going to that day but we got the new about Pod and then the time didn't seem right and…and I was scared, too.”

“Don’t apologize. I know we’ve all been trying to see to Pod and take care of things on the ranch but why were you scared, darling?”

“I’ve never been pregnant before. Two years of marriage and no baby with him. I had started to fear that it wasn’t meant for me. You and I haven’t been together all that long in truth. I was afraid of getting my hopes up too soon.”

He kissed her forehead as she laced her fingers through his. “Well, I’ve certainly enjoyed making this baby with you even if it didn’t take us all that long,” he said jokingly, making her grin again.

“I’ve enjoyed making him or her with you, too. And just because you’ve succeeded in getting me pregnant doesn’t mean we have to stop that, right?” she asked as she tugged him back towards their spot.

He shook his head vehemently, making her laugh heartily until he covered her mouth with his own.

“Women's clothes need to be easier to remove,” he panted several minutes later once they'd worked each other up thoroughly with countless kisses and caresses. 

He was desperately lifting her skirts after giving up on the buttons of her dress as she scowled adorably at him. "I'm not wearing britches, Jon Snow."

"You'd look pretty in them...especially your backside," he added, giving it a squeeze as she gasped and clucked her tongue at him. "But at least your skirts are easier to deal with out here than if you'd worn that riding skirt." 

“Would you have me naked outdoors like this?”

“You’re damn right I would...but I’d shoot anyone who dared interrupt us.” Her cheeks grew red as he tugged his suspenders off his shoulders, yanked his shirt over his head and unfastened his britches faster than a jack rabbit before laying her back on the quilt. “I’d have you naked all day long if I could.”

“Jon!” she squealed as he covered her with his body. Her squeal became a moan when he started to tease her damp folds with his hard cock.

“I love you,” he told her, his voice gruff with emotion.

“I love you, too.”

He kissed her again, tasting her sweet mouth, exploring it with his tongue. He worked his way down along her jaw and throat, hoping his whiskers wouldn’t leave any marks on her soft skin. She was eagerly kissing his shoulder, her teeth grazing his collarbone as her small hand wrapped around his length.

“God Almighty,” he whimpered, aching to fill her up.

“Make love to me, husband.”

He pulled one of her legs up around his waist and looked her in the eye before sinking inside her tight wet heat. A rumbling groan escaped to be met by her little pleased mewls.

“I love you, Sansa...I love you...” he chanted as he held her in his arms and started thrusting.

All around them, the birds continued their chirping and the April sunshine shone upon his bare back in their little grove by the stream while he made love to his wife, slowly, tenderly and fervently on their quilt upon the young grass. 

The Rockies were there plain to see in the distance but Jon was certain he’d stumbled into his own little corner of Heaven on Earth here with her...and he never wanted to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t write ‘and he never wanted to leave’ without thinking of Jenny’s song 😭 Also, I couldn't help indulging some more of my love of Jon getting to be big-brotherly so apologies for that. 
> 
> I’ve been looking forward to introducing Sam at last but it does mean we’re edging closer to the end so thank you all for continuing to follow this and Happy New Year! ❤️❤️❤️


	25. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jon have dinner with the Tarlys while the sheriff and Mr. Bolton plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given Gilly a different backstory from canon so, while she's known some difficult times, there's no Craster in her life.

Sansa studied her reflection in the mirror after she’d adjusted her skirts to ensure her petticoats were covered. The young woman staring back at her was twenty-one now and happier than she’d ever dreamt of being six months ago. There was still a hint of that wrinkle forming between her brow which would surely grow more pronounced as time marched on. It would not trouble her.

The dark green silk gave her eyes a greenish cast under the lantern light. There were bluish circles beneath her eyes this evening as well. Dr. Luwin had joked that growing a new life was hard work. Maybe it wasn’t a joke. She would not fret over the dark circles. She thought on all she had to be grateful for and smiled at her reflection.

She’d not worn this dress since the night of the dance in early December but she’d wanted to wear it for their dinner at The Stag with the Tarlys tonight. More than that, she’d wanted to wear it again for Jon.

She glanced over her shoulder at her husband who was tugging on a clean shirt and reaching for his vest. She left her mirror behind.

His lips twitched with pleasure and his hands dropped to the sides as she wordlessly took over the buttoning of his vest. Passion amongst the wildflowers on a sunny afternoon and heartfelt declarations of love in the dark of night were all well and good but she cherished these gentle little moments of their marriage every bit as much.

“I tried to get my hands as clean as I could,” he said, holding them up for inspection. “I can’t help the calluses.” Ranching was hard work and dirty, too. She did not mind it.

She smoothed down his collar. “They are fine. You look very handsome.” She leaned forward, feeling terribly bold as she whispered, “And, I’d let you put those hands wherever you please, sir, if we weren’t due to depart so soon.”

He blessed her with a devilish grin but it soon faded into a less certain look. “I ain’t learned the way he is, Sansa. I’ve never seen so many books together in one place in my whole life before we went into his office. I’m not sure what I’ll have to contribute to our evening’s conversation.”

“He puts his britches on the same way you do, Jon. Say whatever’s on your mind. I find your company to my liking and I’m sure the Tarlys will as well.”

“Yeah but you love me.”

“Anyone who takes the trouble of getting to know you would love you. You’re easy to love.” The uncertain look turned tender. “Or you can always sit there and just eat up the good food we’ll be served, smiling and nodding as you please. I’ll thank you for going all the same.” He snickered, a wry twinkle in his eyes as they swept up and down her dress and his hands came to rest on her hips. “Do you have something to say to me?” she inquired, a playful lilt in her voice.

He often spoke of undressing her no sooner than they were dressed and, though he had seemed to like Mr. Tarly, she knew her husband would prefer staying home for a quiet evening to going into town for a fancy meal with the man and his wife who they’d yet to meet.

“Only that you’re beautiful and I’m even more taken with you now than I was the night I first saw you in this dress. If you were to start singing, I might twirl you around this bedroom or even try and waltz.”

“Maybe I’ll ask you to do the singing instead.”

“I fear your ears might regret it but I would if you asked me to.”

She wrapped her hands around his neck, sinking her fingers into his curls and pressing her lips to his. She felt that familiar jolt of longing humming through her veins. Someone moaned during the kiss. She wasn’t sure if it was him, herself or both of them. “Now, it’ll be me wishing we were staying home.”

“I s’pose it would be dreadful improper of us to cancel so late.”

“Shockingly so, Mr. Snow. And, I wouldn’t wish Beth to think I don’t trust her handling things on her own.”

Sansa had felt bad about leaving Beth solely in charge of supper, especially with Micah underfoot and into mischief so often lately. However, there would be times coming when Sansa would have to rely on her more and she wasn’t handling it completely on her own tonight anyway. Claiming he had no pressing tasks to see to at the moment, Pod had appeared at the backdoor well before the workday was done, offering to help with the meal preparation.

_“I used to fix most of my meals…back before I come here to live and occasionally Brienne’ll ask me to fry her up something when she’s dead tired and hungry at the Log,”_ he’d said, stealing bashful glances at Beth and scratching at the stubble on his chin. _“I reckon I can take direction fairly well and I won’t poison nobody anyhow.”_

_“I’m sure your assistance will be most appreciated, won’t it, Beth?”_

_“Oh, yes. Pod and I’ll do nicely together…in the kitchen,”_ the girl had replied, flushing scarlet with her hands twisted in her skirts.

They bid everyone a good evening as the others were gathering around the table with their normal seats left empty. Jon had hitched up the wagon before coming inside to change and helped her up on the seat next to where he would hold the whip.

“Do you reckon they’ll suspect something…with you not riding Lady or on Licorice with me?”

“Mya knows. Well, I haven’t told her for certain yet but, as I first sought her opinion, she suspects anyway. As for the rest, this is a special occasion, us having dinner in town. Beth would probably fear for my pretty dress as much as I would if I was riding on horseback and the men are unlikely to think too hard on any of it.”

He grinned and shook his head. “I’m sure you’re right regarding the fellers being as I didn’t guess sooner.”

They would tell them all soon enough, while everyone was gathered around the table one evening more than likely. For now, it was their private joy. She enjoyed sharing this precious secret with him as they cherished their hopes for the future in the quiet hours of their nights.

Her eyes started to feel heavy with the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the rocking motion of the wagon but soon enough they were in town and Jon was helping her down from the wagon just as he had the night of the dance.

“You’re positively glowing this evening, Mrs. Snow,” Mr. Baratheon said as he took her shawl once they entered The Stag.

She had to fight the enormous grin that wanted to make itself known and reveal her as Jon was busy hanging up his hat._ Just a little longer_. “Thank you, sir.”

“You do look very pretty in that dress, Sansa.”

“Thank you, Loras. The green makes me think of spring though it’s chilly out tonight. Are our guests here yet?”

“Not yet. I’ll show you to your table where you may warm yourself by the fire. I can bring them to you once they arrive.”

Loras started to escort them past the main dining hall towards one of the two smaller alcoves The Stag possessed for more private dining but Jon was stopped by Mr. Marsh from the mercantile who had some news to convey regarding a saddle he’d had his eye on. Sansa took the opportunity to speak with Loras alone, saying Jon could find his way.

“We miss you at the Rose. Are you happy here?”

“I miss all of you as well but I am very happy.”

“And is Mr. Baratheon satisfied with the number of guests coming to stay at this lovely establishment?”

“Oh, yes. His expectations have been met and exceeded thus far. He talks of opening another hotel at some point, maybe in some of the more established cities or in California even but for now there’s silver running and folks around with money to spend here. I should hate to move away from all of you but I’ll go…” He colored slightly and ducked his chin. “I’ll go wherever he goes.”

She squeezed his arm, happy for them both. “I’m sure he would gladly do the same for you.”

“He already did,” he said quietly before raising his voice once more. “Here we are, ma’am.”

He pulled back her chair and she started to thank him when she heard the voices from the adjacent alcove. It sounded like men were moving to leave but there was a soft-spoken one among the party that raised the hair on her arms.

“…certainly sounds damning,” Roose Bolton was saying.

“If there’s any truth to it, it’ll fix him good and I’d say you’ll get a bargain out of it. You might get the whole thing for less than the hog farm that Payne boy inherited,” Sheriff Karstark laughed.

“Well, I won't count my chickens before they hatch."

"But when they do, you'll remember it was me that..."

"Yes but enough about that here, Arnolf. Just telegraph the man to come and see. I’ll pay his train fare.”

Startled, Sansa glanced at Loras but he only smiled at her. Obviously, he was aware that there might be some awkwardness or even bad feelings between Jon and Mr. Bolton over Ramsay but he did not know everything. He didn’t know what Edd had told Jon about Karstark having his men ask around about him, likely at Mr. Bolton’s urging, either.

“Mr. Bolton was hosting a private supper of his own tonight for the sheriff and a couple of his men. Some business matter but it appears to be coming to an end. Enjoy your supper, Sansa.”

Sansa hoped Loras was right. All the same, she was nervously wringing her hands together before Jon appeared a few minutes later with their company and she bade herself to stop.

Mr. Tarly was grinning but his wife’s hands were twisting together with nerves of her own, it seemed. She wore a very lovely dress, a soft shade of blue that complimented her complexion and dark hair nicely, but she looked ill at ease in it and seemed to be tugging at it, especially the bustle as her husband was making the introduction. Sansa hated for anyone to be ill at ease. She pasted on a bright smile, determined to put Mr. Bolton and the sheriff from her mind and pass an agreeable evening with the Tarlys.

* * *

May had arrived and the days were growing warmer though snow still capped the Rockies in the distance. Sansa recalled the first time she'd seen them and how they'd filled her with wonder. She'd never imagined that mountains could stretch so high towards the heavens. The verdant valley where the Rose lay had been the same mixture of green and gold as it was now and had offered a lovely contrast to the stark snowy peaks. She had thought of her family that day, wishing they could marvel at the majestic beauty of this place with her. 

The old ache filled her heart at the memory but she would set it aside this afternoon. Today was a good day. 

Five years ago, she’d lost her family but she had one again and it was continuing to expand most happily. Despite all the sorrow and hardships she’d known between then and now, Sansa could not be sad while she prepared a fresh pitcher of lemonade on this fine spring day.

Two Sundays past, she’d laid out her lace napkins on the table before supper. There was enough for every lap thanks to Jon’s gift at Christmas and it was the first time the old ones had been used during a meal since they’d graced Catelyn Stark’s table long ago and thousands of miles east of Silverhill.

_“The lace napkins,”_ Jon had said softly when he’d sat down and noticed them.

_“Yes,”_ she’d replied, blushing and half afraid sentiment would overwhelm her in front of everyone. They were only napkins. Once upon a time, some of them had been held by precious hands which she could no longer hold but now they would be held by other people she loved.

_“You made apple pie, too.”_

_“I know you love it. Rodrik, would you mind leading us in saying the blessing?”_

_“Wait.”_ Jon had set down the knife and fork that he’d moved to inspect the napkin. He'd spoken with uncommon gravity. _“I’d like to say something first. I care about every single person at this table. I ain’t had so many people in my life to care for at once in…well, ever. I was hoping to share our news today and maybe give them a tenth of the happiness that you’ve given me, darling.”_

She had laid the napkins out specifically with a special occasion in mind, half contemplating it herself. How like her husband to know. Unable to speak, she'd nodded. The joyous outburst and congratulations on top of Jon’s proud smile after he'd told them would be a treasured memory for all her days.

And their glad tidings were followed by more._ “I don’t wanna take away from the wonderful news Jon and Sansa have shared but I can’t keep silent any longer in this regards. Mya, you are my heart, the mother of my son and the woman I dream of every night. I know I ain’t worthy of you but...”_ He’d stood and laid his napkin down before sinking to one knee and asking for her hand in the mostly endearing manner.

Beth had sighed happily. Sansa had, too.

Mya had covered her face with her own napkin and stamped her foot. _“Dammit, Mychel! You ain’t supposed to make a gal cry when she’s fixin’ to eat!”_

But she’d leapt into his arms all the same and kissed him before tugging him by the hand and murmuring they’d be back shortly.

The others had taken that as a clear signal to keep up a credible din at table, talking of the coming little one and the offer Pod had received for his uncle’s place along with the progress of the hogs that were now part of the Rose’s barnyard life. Thankfully, there’d been no audible sounds coming from Mya’s room though Mychel’s ears had been red and he’d missed a button when they’d returned to the table a short time later. Mya had been untroubled by any potential assumptions made by the others naturally.

Their news along with Mya and Mychel’s had been shared amongst their friends in town the following Sunday. Tormund, the dear heart, had sobbed with joy, hugging his Little Snow tightly since he was afraid of squeezing Sansa too hard under the circumstances.

_“Goddammit, Tormund. I do like breathing, you know,”_ Jon had huffed though he’d not been able to hide his grin.

He’d released Jon only to whack Mychel heartily on the back offering his congratulations before he’d stared at Brienne for a long moment and excused himself, tromping off to see to ‘some business.’ Whatever that business was, Sansa did not know just yet.

Edd had approached with Tormund’s departure and offered his well wishes, too. But there’d been a troubled look in his eyes which had dashed some cold water on Sansa’s pleasure. He'd later cornered Jon, she'd learned, to say he wasn't sure he wished to stay on as a deputy in Silverhill. She’d wondered if perhaps things between him and Alyce were not all she'd hoped for them and Edd was more downcast than usual because of it. She'd regretted her friend's disappointments but didn’t want to believe it could be anything more. 

But today the sun was shining and life on the Rose was thriving with the buzzing of bees, the chirping of birds and the gentle breeze blowing the laundry hanging out on the line.

Sansa could hear childish giggles filtering through the open window as she finished stirring the lemonade. They’d been chasing Ghost for the last fifteen minutes, toddling up to the large dog who’d let them get close only to quickly edge away with a playful yip. She’d swear the animal had figured out at once that the children considered this a game. His tail had been wagging excitedly at one point and knocked Micah to the dirt. Little Sam had fallen to his knees with belly laughs at that and Micah had decided he was unhurt and thought it funny, too.

She’d left the mothers and grandmother hovering nearby and said she’d bring out refreshments while secretly hoping that one day her own child might be out there playing with Ghost and tagging along after the older pair.

This had turned out to be the perfect day to invite Gilly, her mother and her son to the ranch for a visit. Rodrik had driven the wagon to town earlier to fetch them along with some supplies and Samwell would be coming out to supper tonight and then take his wife, mother-in-law, and son back home again.

The four of them had got on very well at supper last month. As they were both from Missouri originally, the men had had that much to start them off and soon Jon and Sam, though differing in experiences, education, most of their interests and somewhat in temperament, had been talking away at a steady rate.

And Gilly…well, Gilly was something Sansa had not expected. She loved Beth and Mya dearly but there was room in her heart for another sister of sorts, wasn’t there? 

In truth, her heart had gone out to the young woman with large brown eyes like a doe from the outset of their dinner at The Stag when she’d shyly shook hands with her and then most unfortunately bumped into the table as she sat, upsetting the water glasses. She’d been so mortified over it and fighting back tears of frustration so Sansa had swept her off to the ladies’ retiring room to ‘freshen up’ while the men put the table to rights again. It was there that she’d learned the tale of how Gilly had become Mrs. Samwell Tarly and why Sam had chosen to practice law in Silverhill, Colorado and not joined his father’s lucrative and established practice instead.

Gilly’s mother, Chapawee, was a Sioux woman who had married a fur trader. The man was often gone trapping further north and Gilly and her mother had remained with her mother's people when she'd been a little girl, eventually being forced onto a reservation in Kansas. She'd been sent to the Indian school as a child but by seven she'd received all the formal schooling she would get. 

Once he'd had his fill of trapping, Gilly's father had come and fetched his wife and child and settled them in St. Louis. Unfortunately, he'd developed pneumonia one winter and died when Gilly was fourteen. After her husband’s untimely death, Chapawee had found work keeping house for the well-to-do and her young daughter had been her helper. In time, they’d come to work for the Tarlys.

Samwell’s father had had no objections to the Indian woman and her daughter turning over the beds, doing the wash and emptying the necessary among other household tasks but he’d had quite a few objections when the girl and his son had developed a tendre for one another one summer when Sam had been home from college. Mr. Tarly had given his son an ultimatum, give up his ‘half-breed whore’ or find his own way. Sam had left his father’s house and married Gilly that very day.

_“I never do wear bustles nor dresses like this very much. It makes me feel so clumsy,"_ she'd admitted as they'd been attempting to blot the water from her dress.

_"I don't care much for bustles myself."_

_"I had to wear one here of course but then...well, I would go and make a mess."_

_"You didn't have to wear one, Mrs. Tarly. There's far less expectations here than back east, I find, when it comes to fashion."_

_"I wouldn't wish to embarrass Sam or insult you, ma'am."_

_"Me?"_

_"Sam had said what a fine lady you were, Mrs. Snow. I know you own a ranch and my husband was talking about some book the two of you had discussed the day you’d met in town. It was one I’d never heard of. I should’ve trusted his judgment regarding your kindness but I started fretting you’d…look down on someone like me,”_ she’d admitted, awkwardly bunching her skirts in her fists. 

_“Not at all, Mrs. Tarly. We are both women here in this wild land and there is goodness in folks from all over, I believe. What books a person’s read or hasn’t isn’t the central basis of their character. Jon is the finest man I have ever known but he takes no great pleasure in books and will tell you as much. I am sorry that you were worried but I assure you I would very much like for us to be friends and I only regret that we don’t have the pleasure of your boy’s company this evening.”_

_“Oh, no!”_ she’d laughed. _“Little Sam at a fancy dinner? He’s three and it’d be a disaster I’m sure. He’s at home with my mother.”_

_“Well, I will yield to your greater experience when it comes to little ones at a dinner. I’m glad to know your mother is with you here. She would surely be welcome to dine with us as well.”_

_“Not here,”_ Gilly had said doubtfully, her fingers skimming along the gold-foiled trim of the wash basin.

_“Yes, here, I think. Mr. Baratheon and Mr. Tyrell are friends of mine and I trust they are worthy of my esteem in regards to who they would welcome at their hotel.”_

From that point, they had talked the night away amiably, laughing and chatting until it grew quite late and their husbands were both stifling their yawns.

Drawn back to the present, she tasted the lemonade. “A bit more sugar maybe,” she said to herself.

“I’ll give you some sugar.”

Sansa gasped and turned around to find her husband had snuck up on her as he seemed fond of doing here in the kitchen. "It's not really manners to sneak up on a lady that way, Mr. Snow." Her grin betrayed the severity of her words.

He was not fooled one bit. He laid his hat aside and pulled her into his arms. "I was coming up here to fetch the saddle oil I left here by mistake this morning but I see you and all thoughts of work abandon me."

"Some ranch hand you are," she teased.

"These hands would gladly make you abandon all thoughts of your ladies and lemonade if you'd allow me, ma'am." 

_Oh, lordy._ Didn't she know that all too well? He squeezed her backside and nuzzled into her neck. Like the wanton thing she was, she started pressing herself against him, desperate to get closer and seal up any hint of air between them. She could feel him hardening through his britches and her skirts. 

She rubbed her hand along his rapidly thickening erection through his clothes, eliciting a pitiful groan. "There's something here which I recall enjoying earlier this morning before my proper breakfast," she said with a sauciness that would've been foreign to her six months ago while nibbling on his earlobe. The hot and heavy fullness of his length and the salty tang of him filling her mouth had been completely foreign to her as well but she'd loved that she'd pleased and surprised him with her eagerness to explore something new. She'd loved what he'd done to her afterwards, too. 

"God, Sansa...it's only been a few hours and I'm so hungry for you again." 

"My guest are probably wondering where I am."

"I'll be quick." 

What would Mya do? She'd likely run off to the bedroom with her man. If it were only Mya out on the porch, she would do that, too. But it wasn't just Mya. 

“You do tempt me,” she told him, echoing the words he’d once said to her. He leaned forward, a blaze of triumph in his eyes, until his chest met the resistance of her hand. “But I have guests and you have work to do, do you not?”

He swallowed hard, the vexation of pleasure delayed at war with his good sense before he nodded deliberately, his eyes still burning with desire. “I have work to do down at the stables and my wife has ladies to entertain. I’ll behave.”

“Thank-”

“But fair warning, wife. I ain’t gonna behave tonight.” All the breath seemed to leave her in a great whoosh at his wicked words and the delightfully dark look he gave her before pulling on his hat. "Best sweeten your lemonade to your liking now."

Her knees were feeling weak as she did so while he breathed heavily in and out. Then, he carried her tray out to the porch for her. He politely tipped his hat to Gilly and Chapawee once he’d sat it down, affectionately patted the two little heads in the yard and strode off towards the stables with a stiffness to his walk that she was every bit as responsible for as he was for the wetness between her thighs. 

Sansa’s eyes were locked on his retreating form until she realized she’d been staring far longer than was proper. She cleared her throat, ignored Mya’s smirk and called the boys over before serving the refreshments.

* * *

The afternoon sun was still burning bright for this time of year but Sansa’s kitchen was a hive of activity as Beth, Gilly and herself were busy with preparing supper. Mya and Chapawee were with the little ones in the parlor who, despite their youth, were eagerly listening to some folk tale Chapawee was telling. A tale of wolves from what she could hear of it, Sansa wished she could sit and listen as well. 

She was fixing to ask Beth to set the table when she heard a commotion coming from out front.

“Jon! Jon, where you at?! Sansa! We got trouble!”

It was Mychel. She swung open the door just as he had vaulted up the steps as if they were nothing. His eyes were wild with worry and a chill of dread chased all the way down her spine from her scalp and through her limbs. 

“Mychel, what’s all this fuss?” she asked in a voice that was far steadier than she felt.

He swept his hat from his head and seemed shy of meeting her eyes. But all the women were in the parlor now, curious to see what was the matter. He looked to Mya as he spoke. “I was in town fetching the…it don’t matter. I stopped in the Log and Brienne said stranger had been in there talking with Karstark and Mr. Bolton and…shit. There’s men heading this way, Sansa. They’re coming for Jon on the sheriff’s orders.”

“What in the hell, Mychel?” Mya asked as the other ladies expressed their confusion. “What’d you mean they’re coming for Jon?”

“They coming to arrest him on charges of theft and, uh…rape.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips and his eyes flittered to Sansa’s for only a moment. Did he believe those charges could be true? Or was he merely in shock?

“Horseshit! When was he supposed to have robbed or raped anybody?” Mya asked, angrily. At least, she would not believe the worst of him.

“Years ago…in Kansas, they said from what Brienne overheard.”

Once more, Sansa’s knees were weak but in an entirely different manner than earlier when Jon had come upon her stirring her lemonade. Her hand rose to her throat as thoughts of the Frey boy and his fate assaulted her. _Why, Why?!_ she wanted to scream.

“Where're Pod and Wex?” she asked in that same curiously calm voice. “They went with you to town, didn’t they?”

“They ran off towards the stables looking for Jon when I came to the house.”

“Nuh uh. No goddamn way there's a lick of truth to this," Mya was grumbling. 

Chapawee was speaking to Gilly in her native tongue before her daughter spoke. "Has Jon ever mentioned trouble in Kansas to you, Sansa?" 

“There must be some misunderstanding,” Beth said worriedly as she attempted to sooth the children who were aware that something was wrong even if they were too young to know what.

She couldn't respond to any of them. She felt numb. She felt dizzy, too. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to sink to her knees and cry. 

“Sansa…” Mychel said, his hand brushing her arm. She’d already been heading towards the backdoor, her feet carrying her to him of their own volition. “I seen 'em saddling up before we left town. There’s a dozen of them coming, all of 'em well-heeled.”

She gulped and ignored the twitch of her nose and the burning in her eyes. “Alright.”

"I can fetch Rodrik and the boys and..."

"We don't want trouble like that here, Mychel," she told him, squeezing his hand before moving past him. 

Out on the porch, she could hear the approach of horses. She peered around the side of the house and saw them, thirteen men on horseback. Sheriff Karstark didn’t have so many men. One of them was bound to be the stranger from Kansas with friends of his maybe. She’d bet good money the Mr. Thorne Jon had told her of was with them. _"I'll pay his train fare,"_ Mr. Bolton had said that night at The Stag. 

They were not racing here, just coming at a steady trot. They must’ve figured they’d catch him completely off-guard. Or perhaps they considered his capture as inevitable as Jon had confessed one night lying in her arms that he’d once feared it was.

She recognized Edd riding beside Sheriff Karstark. Bile rose up as she scowled at him. “You were his friend,” she murmured to the wind. Part of her wished she’d told Edd of Jon’s past back when she could’ve but then again, maybe it would’ve only brought this day of reckoning down upon them this much sooner. 

Edd’s presence felt like a slap but it also motivated her to stop her dream-like walking and run for the stables. They were unlikely to spy her at the distance if they were focused on the house.

Entering the stables, her eyes had to adjust after the bright sunlight. She heard Pod’s voice raised in anger and stumbled towards it.

“No, no, no! This ain’t right! We ain’t gonna let ‘em take you like this! Wex and me’ll get Rodrik and we’ll fetch our guns and…”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Jon roared just as she could see clearly again. “You think I want you two boys getting shot fighting the sheriff and his men over me?! Goddammit, Pod! Use the brain the good lord gave you and think! You won’t do me no good and you’ll just endanger everyone on this ranch if you make some sort of half-cocked stand against the law!”

Pod and Wex’s postures shifted from stubborn anger and pride to defeat as Jon laid a gentle hand on each boy’s shoulder. 

“Go on to the bunkhouse and tell Rodrik what’s happening and…” He lifted his head and their eyes met. Hers were growing blurry with tears so she furiously dashed them away. She would not cry now. “Look after the women and keep your heads low, boys. It’ll be alright. I’ll be…fine,” he finished wanly before crushing them both in a brief embrace and shoving them towards the door. 

The boys walked past her on unsteady legs, both crying as they went. She watched her husband continue saddling Blue.

“Licorice is your horse,” she said softly as she drew nearer.

He patted Blue’s side. “The gelding will do for this trip into town. Licorice is worth too much in case…in case you don’t get him back right away.”

“Jon…”

“I’m sorry, darling.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s my fault for running away from this in the first place. I never meant to leave you, especially not…” His voice cracked and he was unable to finish. 

He turned towards her, his chin trembling slightly before he clenched his jaw, struggling to hide his fear. Her heart was breaking. It’d been broken before but how could she survive this? The tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked as she sought to defend him against his own self-condemnation. 

“You were right to run away back then. When it’s not a fair fight, running away is all the choice we have sometimes.” 

Maybe her daddy would never have said those words but maybe her mama would’ve. They felt right to Sansa. Jon jerked his chin once in acknowledgement and she rushed to him. They clung to each other with an unbridled ferocity for a handful of seconds, trying to convey all the things they were feeling in actions instead of words.

She could not let him go. A madness took her similar to Pod and Wex’s from earlier but she could not fight armed men. 

“Run, Jon. Get on Licorice and head into the mountains. I’ll lie and say you left earlier. Then, I’ll grab up all the money in the house. We’ll take Licorice and Ghost and ride away if you want. We’ll build us a little place up in the mountains and...”

“You’re not starving nor freezing to death in the mountains, darling.”

“We’ll catch a train then. We’ll go to California or Oregon. We'll go to San Francisco. There's nearly three hundred thousand people there, I hear. No one would ever find us.”

Every word she spoke was pure desperation, she knew. He knew it, too. He drew her hand up to his lips for a kiss. His expression was stern but loving. “Three hundred thousand people in one place? Who the hell would want to live like that?" She smiled despite her sorrow. "You ain’t leaving your home and I’m done running from this.”

They exited the barn hand in hand a few minutes later with Jon leading Blue. 

Ghost came from around the side of the house. He was growling until Jon spoke a quiet word and patted his head. "You ain't getting shot for me either, boy."

Sansa could see that most of the men were surrounding her house but one was not. He was walking right towards them.

“Hello, Edd,” her husband said, already resigned. 

“Hello, Jon. I sure hate being here today.” He tipped his hat to her. “Sansa, I…”

“Deputy.” She had spit the word out like it was the foulest curse and she took some satisfaction from Edd's wince. “You can tell your boss I’ll be paying a call on Mr. Samwell Tarly as soon as all of you get off my property. These charges are every bit as false as they were the day they were lodged and I'll see it's argued in the highest court in the land if I must until my husband is a free man.”

“I know you’ll fight for him, ma’am. I don’t…”

His words were cut off by the arrival of another man. Slim but sinewy, tall and grim, the older man walked towards them with one hand resting on top of a pistol. The smile on his face looked like it must be an unusual thing for him. 

“Knew we’d catch up to you someday, boy.”

Jon purposely ignored him and turned to her instead. “I love you, my darling. I love you more than anything on this good earth, sweet wife. Never doubt that.” His callused hand tenderly swiped her tears away. “I’ll see you later,” he said before giving her a swift, chaste kiss. 

“You will. I promise you will. I love you, Jon.”

Giving her a final bittersweet smile, he told Ghost to stay as the others had gathered around to take him. They allowed him to mount but then one of Karstark’s other men bound his hands and tied the rope to his pommel. 

Sansa hugged herself as Mya and Beth were hurrying down from the house towards her. Gilly and Chapawee stood on the porch, watching the sheriff’s men with eyes that spoke of mistrust and anger. Sansa could not blame them. 

Ghost was pressing against her leg, whimpering. She reached out to scratch his ears. “It’s alright, boy. This isn’t done.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite Edd's presence feeling like a 'slap' to Sansa, I promise him being there will be a good thing in the next chapter.


	26. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this chapter but I hope it's not dull anyway. I will admit I've been missing Jon Snark, that cocky little shit from the books who I adore, and it's been coming out in my writing lately ;P

Blue was plodding along and, despite his bound hands, Jon could keep his seat easily enough at this pace. He’d looked back over his shoulder just once as the Rose faded from view. It was unimaginably painful so he decided against repeating the action. Edd was back there behind him, too. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Other than that look back, he rode like a perfect stoic, outwardly oblivious to the hateful man at his side. Thorne drew breathe again before continuing his little diatribe. A speck of spittle landed on Jon’s cheek. Without so much as a blink, he managed to lower his body and raise his hands enough to flick it away as though it were a gnat.

He’d tolerated plenty in his life and Alliser Thorne’s ranting wasn’t the worst he’d known. He’d been shoved, cuffed and whipped as a boy for reasons both known and unknown. He’d lost his mama at thirteen and mourned her greatly, thinking no one would ever love him again with her gone. He’d known hunger in the house of his uncle as well as his cruel words and crueler fists. He’d been reduced to sleeping under the stars when it was no fit night for being away from one’s fire more times than he could count. He’d known a hard life of toil, aching muscles, stomped toes and sprains since he was fifteen. He could put up with this.

Thorne was having himself a regular barn-raising time issuing his threats and making his sorry jests but the less Jon responded to him, the less he seemed to draw satisfaction from his triumph. He was frothing at the mouth like some mad dog over having caught up to him at last, saying how justice was long overdue and he’d pay for making fools of him and Slynt.

Jon didn’t give a shit.

All he cared about was the devasted look in his wife’s eyes when he’d seen her in the stables earlier and how he’d found himself with everything he could ever want for a handful of precious months, knowing he may have lost it all for good today.

_And for what? All because I didn’t go along with you killing some Indians._

He had long feared that someday his past would catch up to him and that when that day came, the price would be more than he could bear. Well, this was far more than he could bear.

The thoughts of Sansa heartbroken, of their unborn child never knowing his or her daddy, of leaving this little family he’d found here in Colorado, it was more than enough to break a man, even the most stoic. In a low moment, he almost wished Ghost had never found him that day and led him out of those desolate plains. At his worst, he might almost wish he’d died that day.

_But what of my darling?_

If he’d died back then, he’d never have met Sansa, never have known her love or given her his heart in return. Even if they stretched his neck tomorrow, he’d consider the joy they’d found in each other worth his present pain.

_Don’t give up. This isn’t done,_ a voice whispered in his ear. He knew that voice. Though her words were imagined, the sentiment was real enough. She would fight for him, for his freedom and to clear his name. He could not give into despair so readily, not knowing his woman would fight tooth and nail for him. He owed it to her to fight, too. 

He smiled to himself and looked over his shoulder once more. The Rose was already out of sight. He’d just have to be sure he saw it again some other day.

“What’re you smiling for, you cowardly bastard?”

The insult didn't bother him. Thorne could think him a coward for running. In the face of their unholy wrath, it was likely the only thing he could've done and saved his hide just as Sansa had said to him in the stables. And he _was_ a bastard. That didn't bother him none. “It’s a beautiful afternoon, Mr. Thorne,” he said mildly, drawing more amusement than he should from Thorne’s angry huff in reply.

But the angry huff faded into an ominous chuckle. “It is a beautiful afternoon and there stands a lonely tree. A beautiful afternoon, indeed."

"Yeah but they'll want to hang me in town with a spectacle after the judge says his piece. Guess that lonely tree will stay lonely." He could tell Thorne didn't like that. _Aggravating you was always so easy even when I wasn't trying._ Jon felt the devil prodding him to poke the snake again. "I'm surprised you still got a bulge on for me after all these years."

"Shut up."

"Of course, having your name sullied would piss a sanctimonious blowhard like you off. Speaking of croaking old blowhards, how's Slynt anyway? He still borrowing your balls whenever he wants to feel tough? Still threatening widows or beating some orphans in his spare time when he ain't outright extorting? Oh, that's right. I hear he lost his position as magistrate after what happened with me." Thorne's eyes narrowed and a warning voice in the back of his head was telling Jon to do as the man said. He wasn't in the mood to listen to that voice. "I guess you ain't head of no cattle drives anymore either, are you? Even big cattle ranchers don't like a head who stirs up trouble with the Indians. So, what do you do now, Mr. Thorne...besides chase down cowardly bastards for that miserable little frog?"

Thorne gave him a long stare. Jon didn't bat an eye though he wondered what the old man was thinking. He found out soon enough.

"Here’s good!” Thorne called out to those around them.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Thorne?” Sheriff Karstark asked from where he rode at the head of the posse.

“Nothing’s the matter, Sheriff. This is a fine place to get on with things, is all. We got rope and a good tree.”

"Now, hold on, Mr. Thorne. That ain't the deal. Mr. Bolton paid for your train fare but he's..." Those shady eyes flickered between Jon and Thorne. "There's other plans in motion and..."

He trailed off at the sounds of horses coming up on them. Jon could see the dust rising as they came. Riders from town, six of them.

Dread filled him, making his guts turn to water. Added to the thirteen men with him, that’d make nineteen. Nineteen against him. He had a very strong suspicion these men had no interest in seeing him rot inside Silverhill’s jail. Deep down, he'd admit he'd feared as much from the start. It was why he’d chosen to ride Blue. Part of him must have known he'd never reach town alive.

“Who the hell are they?” Karstark asked.

Was that an act? Did Karstark know what was happening or was he truly in the dark? _And will it do me a damn bit of good either way?_

“The rest of my men, sir.” Thorne raised his fingers and gave a loud whistle before turning to Jon with a smile so foul it could curdle cream. “Much as I might have enjoyed watching your wife cry her pretty eyes out at your hanging in town, you’ve slipped through my fingers twice already as it is. I don’t mean to let you get away a third time." He leaned in closer and whispered with bone-chilling malice. "But don't worry, I can always see to it she's properly comforted before I leave town.”

Even stoics have their breaking point. He could scarcely breathe as his heart went rat-a-tat in his chest and Blue started to give a stutter step, reading Jon’s emotions.

Swallowing his pride, he thought of Sansa and the baby and all the reasons why he didn’t want to be strung up on the side of the road to town. The image of Sansa somehow finding his body this way brought the words bubbling up from him. “Mr. Thorne, whatever ways I've offended you, I apologize. It was never my intention for us to be on the opposite side of any fight. We could…”

“Oh, now the pup is ready to whimper, I see,” the older man chuckled, very pleased now. “You’ll whimper and yelp enough for my liking once we get that rope around your neck.”

“Like hell you will!”

_Edd_.

Jon closed his eyes in momentary relief as the deputy drew up beside them, his eyes beady and his nostrils flared in anger. He had his hand poised at his hip meaningfully.

“We ain't hanging nobody today. You and your friends come out here with your warrant and your tales and your ax to grind but you don't wear no badge. This here's a matter for the law and you ain't the law. The judge will preside over this like any criminal case. You ain’t riding in here and hanging this man with no trial.”

“I beg your pardon, deputy, but why bother the judge here in Colorado? It's Kansas that wants him."

"Well, you ain't in Kansas anymore, Mr. Thorne."

"No but we got our man and this can be done with nice and quick and we'll be out of your hair. And I'd like to point out, we seem to be the majority around here,” Thorne said, all smug arrogance.

“We still seem to be the one’s wearing the fucking badges,” Edd replied, cold as ice. “You try and harm this man, you’ll be coming through me and my men to do it. You’ll be coming through every one of us who’s wearing a badge. Innocent or guilty, the accused has a right to a trial and he's getting it.”

One or two of the other sheriff’s men made noises of agreement. Jon hoped to God Edd had more of them on his side than that. It didn’t seem to stop him none.

“If you or your friends do a damn thing, if they lay one goddamn finger on those smoke wagons they’re carrying, I promise there’ll be blood and every last one of you’ll be the wanted men around here.”

“We have no beef with you, deputy, but dead men tell no tales.”

“Then, I’ll look forward to watching you roast in hell beside me, Mr. Thorne, because it’ll be your head gets turned into a canoe first.” Edd drew his equalizer and aimed it right in Thorne's face. “Ain’t that right, Sheriff?”

Despite the warmth of the day, gooseflesh prickled every inch of Jon’s body when Karstark shot a few more furtive looks around him. The tension was thicker than molasses and he wondered how such a fine day had brought him here when he'd been in his kitchen a couple of hours ago promising his wife he'd misbehave tonight. 

Whatever Karstark's earlier agreements with Thorne, they seemed to mean little in comparison to his loyalty to what Mr. Bolton wanted. “Tollett’s right. This ain’t the deal and we've got to take this man in. We ain’t hanging nobody today.”

The good and bad alike of the sheriff’s men seemed galvanized by Edd’s words as much as Karstark’s and every last one of them had their hands at the ready for trouble. Jon prayed there’d be none as he knew he’d likely be shot first if anyone else got antsy enough to draw.

Thorne stared at him and then Edd with pure hatred before he hawked and spat on the ground, his more usual sourpuss expression firmly back in place. “Fine. We’ll see you in town then.” He gave a shout and the four men who’d rode out to the Rose with him and the six others that had attempted to join the party left as one.

Pretending it never even happened, Karstark told his diminished group of men to shake a leg and see the prisoner was taken in before he rode off as well. Whether he was catching up with Thorne and his men or reporting back to Mr. Bolton, Jon didn’t know or care. It looked like he’d make it to town in one piece anyway.

Edd gave orders to the others before putting his pistol back in its holster and leaning over to undo the knot at the pommel that bound Jon's wrists to it. His hands were shaking as he worked.

“I didn’t expect that,” Jon told him quietly.

“I didn’t expect that fool to try that either.”

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t expect you to…you’d be one to ride the river with, Edd Tollett.”

He caught a flash of a grin on the dour face as Edd soaked that in while he finished untying the rope. “Your hands are still bound but you ain’t tied to the saddle at least. Don’t make me sorry for it. You're my prisoner for now.”

“I'm your prisoner for now," he agreed. "I didn’t rape nobody.” For some reason, that was the charge he most wanted to see dismissed although he could just as readily be hung over the made up story of unjustified shootings and cattle rustling.

The deputy scratched uncomfortably at his whiskers. “No, I’d have a hard time believing that of you, Jon.”

“Is their witness with Thorne? Did she come out here with 'em?”

He loathed the thought of seeing Ros again for various reasons but particularly didn't wish to call her a liar in a court of law. If the charge was upheld, he'd sound like a miserable lying rapist trying to escape his fate. If the charge was dismissed, she'd be accused of perjury when none of this was her doing. She may very well have been raped at some point in her miserable life by somebody. Slynt and Thorne would never care. It wasn't fair that they were only using her for their little vendetta against him. She was a soiled dove crying rape. It was risking her credibility and the credibility of any woman who found the courage to bring such charges for true in the future. The whole business was sickening. 

“They didn’t have no gal with ‘em but…who was she, Jon?”

“She was a saloon girl I knew when I was all of seventeen. She's a couple of years older than me though that don't matter. I got to know her in between a couple of cattle drives back in Kansas. She served up the whiskey with a smile and was a sight for sore eyes after months on the trail. She was kind and it wasn't so scary for me to talk to her as it was with other girls. We became friendly and one winter when I was waiting around for work…we were both lonely." 

He'd enjoyed her smiles and the warmth of her arms around him but he hadn't been in love. He didn't fool himself into thinking she'd loved him either but they'd got on alright that winter and it'd been something to chase away the darkness. All the same, he'd not thought twice about riding back off when the next train came along looking for hands that spring. 

"She got in a tight spot sometime afterwards from what I heard and went to work at a brothel.”

“It happens,” Edd said, shaking his head.

“After the original charges were dismissed, they were angry. Slynt had some dealings with the man who was blacksmithing her. I figure they made it hard for her to say no to them.”

“I wish you’d told me this before.”

“I wish I had, too. Sansa wanted me to.”

“Sansa…I reckon Mrs. Snow ain’t ever gonna call me Edd again.” His tone was wry but Jon knew he’d felt the sting of Sansa’s cold fury.

“She liked you just fine before you came out to arrest her husband earlier. She'll like you again when she learns what you did for me just now.”

Edd chuckled before shooting him a pleading look. “I don’t like my job somedays, Jon.”

“I know.”

He also knew his friend had feelings for Brienne’s newest employee, Alyce, a young woman not so different than Ros. It was a very hard life those women lived and he had sympathy for them. He knew Edd did as well.

“I won’t say nothing else for now except thank you, Edd.”

They rode on in silence for a bit but Edd stayed by his side. He couldn’t help noticing how the other sheriff’s men seemed to defer to Edd once Karstark was out of sight, even the ones Tormund had pointed out as being ones who’d harassed the miners in the past. Edd might not have leadership etched on his forehead but he was capable. He was a good man who in spite of all his pessimism, believed in the job even if he didn’t always like it. He’d make a better sheriff than Karstark in every way in Jon’s opinion.

But what of the rest of them? If push came to shove again and Karstark wasn’t around or disagreed with Edd, who’d stand by Edd’s side? For that matter, Edd couldn’t watch him in his cell round the clock. What if Thorne decided to act again?

“How many of these men do you trust?” Jon asked quietly as they neared town.

Edd tipped his hat back and looked around. “Enough of ‘em. Emmett, Todder and Halder are alright. The rest will follow logic if you firmly point ‘em that way.” He adjusted his hat again and stared up ahead. “Well, shit,” he gulped. 

Jon looked forward to see what had drawn Edd's attention down the stretch of road between them and town. It was filled with armed men. '_Well, shit'_ sort of summed it up.

* * *

  
“You know that was the dumbest thing you ever did, right? You could’ve got shot.”

“Bah! I’ve done far dumber things, Little Snow, and don’t you wish you knew half of ‘em!” He gave him a wink as he closed up his flask. “Care for a nip, Edd?” Tormund asked before tossing it his way.

Edd caught Tormund's lucky flask one handed and slid off the desk where he’d been seated, watching the two of them talk. He took his sip, hissing at the strength of the home brew.

“Goddamn, that burns.”

“Serves you right, law dog,” Tormund chuckled.

It was interesting that the two of them were being so amicable considering they’d looked ready to kill each other three hours ago._ Life’s funny that way,_ Jon mused. _I was making love to Sansa this morning as the cock was crowing and here I am in a jail cell at moonrise._ He wished he could reverse the order of that.

Right outside of town, Tormund had rounded up nearly every last miner to make some cockamamy stand, a fight to save Jon Snow. They were fools everyone of them and he had told them all as much loudly as the deputies had closed ranks, fingering their firebreathers and looking skittish.

Fortunately, cooler heads had prevailed with Jon’s words and a well-timed offer by Edd. They’d dispersed with only Tormund tagging along to _‘wear this bit of tin and keep my eye on these crooked shits.’_

Jon loved Tormund with all his heart but somedays he felt like looking out for Tormund was like looking out for an accident waiting to happen. _And maybe he feels the same way about me._

“I knew as soon as Brienne told me about Thorne being here it’d be nothing but bad news for you and I went to see my men. I hate it, Jon. I think of your woman and the little shaver you got coming and I…well, I gets all come over with the sentiments.”

He meant it, Jon knew, as the big man sniffed loudly…before belching to wake the dead. Tormund had a big heart and often wore it on his sleeve around those he cared about.

“I appreciate it, Tormund, I do. You’re my boon companion and I’ll never forget it. But don’t ever do that again.”

“Jon’s right. You’re lucky Karstark wasn’t with us. He’d have gladly issued warrants for you…if we didn’t just shoot you.”

“Instead of deputizing him, you mean?” Jon asked, giving Edd a wink.

“God, love us. I must be out of my mind,” Edd said as Tormund proudly puffed out his chest with the shiny new badge on it. “I figured I needed another man I could trust to watch over you when I’m not here. I’ll probably live to regret it.”

“No, you won’t, boss,” Tormund proclaimed as Edd tossed the flask back. “Mark my words, you’ll be right glad of it in the end.”

“Don’t call me boss.”

“Mining’s wearing on old bones like these,” Tormund continued, paying Edd no mind. “But I reckon I could be a deputy. Might be a reputable enough endeavor for a man looking to settle down and marry a gal, don’t you think, Jon?”

“Sure, Tormund. You say when she agrees and I’ll gladly stand up with you…assuming I ain’t dead.”

The other two barked with laughter until a sweet voice cut the night causing their joviality to dry up in an instant.

“Don’t you talk about being dead, Jon Snow. I didn’t come out here for you to be talking about being dead.”

His mouth fell open and he rose from the bunk where he’d been sitting as the other two men stood to greet her, Edd solemnly tipping his hat and Tormund engulfing her in a tremendous bear hug. He’d figured she’d come in the morning. He’d not expect to see her tonight. She was wearing her blue shawl and rose-patterned dress. Rodrik was by her side. Her hair was down and her eyes were dry. 

“Mrs. Snow…” Edd began, removing his hat. 

“I’m sure you’ll want to inspect this and make sure I’ve not brought my husband any tools to escape or weapons along with his supper, deputy," she told Edd coolly before passing over the basket she’d been carrying.

Jon noted Edd’s flinch and wished to heal the breech. _But first, I think I’d rather hold her hands,_ he decided when she approached the lone cell.

“It’s late, wife.” He chaffed her chilly hands in his, longing to pull her closer, wishing he could pass through the bars like a ghost but still be real enough to hold her.

“It is but I'm no longer accustomed to a cold bed. I don't much care for it.” She glanced over her shoulder, shooting a sharp look at the three men sharing the small room with them.

Edd cleared his throat and said he could use a bit of air. The other two followed him and Sansa seemed satisfied by that at least.

She rested her head against the bars and he did the same, their foreheads touching lightly between the iron. Their lips met once, twice. He snaked his arms through the bars enough to reach her waist. She ran her fingers through his hair. Their lips met again.

“I told you I’d see you soon,” she said when the kisses were done. “You alright?”

One group of men had wanted to hang him on the way to his present location. Another had intended to turn outlaw and free him. He didn’t think she needed to worry about either occurrence just now.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” His belly growled loudly to affirm it.

She smiled and fetched the basket from the desk Edd had abandoned, passing him a small crock of beans and a slice of cornbread and some buttermilk. He sat it down on his bunk, the sole piece of furniture in his cell. He could eat later. Right now, he wanted to see her.

“How are you?” he asked tenderly.

He settled one hand on the bump that was barely starting to protrude from her skirts. No one else would likely notice if they didn’t know but inside her their child grew and he fretted for her and the baby something fierce.

“Sick with worry but alright. I’ve been to see Sam.”

He nodded. He knew that she would visit their new friend the attorney as quick as she could. His wife and mother-in-law had been out at the ranch when everything had happened this afternoon after all. “That’s good, darling. I’m sure he’ll…”

“I’ve seen Renly, Brienne and Loras, too. I asked Mychel to go and pay a call on Mr. Tallheart tomorrow. Pod’s already gone to see Dr. Luwin. Rodrik’s going to see Reverend Chayle while we’re here. I’ll call on some of the ladies here in town tomorrow.”

His brow furrowed. Had she told everyone in town about her husband's arrest for cattle rustling and rape? “Why?”

“Because this is not a fight you’ve got to face alone. We’ll have good people in our corner when the judge comes. Thorne is a stranger here but you're not. You've got friends. We'll make the judge see the charges are trumped up and already discredited years ago.” She chewed at her bottom lip and gave him a hesitant smile. “I told Gilly and Chapawee about what happened in Kansas, too.” He frowned, not sure he liked that. “Jon, Chapawee has family in Kansas. Gilly spent half her girlhood on a reservation and her mother remembers every injustice her and her people suffered there. She knew about the Arapahoe braves and the white man who’d fought for them.”

“Oh…” He wasn’t sure what good that would do. The Sioux weren’t necessarily friends of the Arapahoe from what he knew and most people in positions of power didn’t care what some Indian woman might think or say from his experience.

“Loras is going to send a telegraph to that Sheriff Mormont you and Tormund spoke of for me. And maybe Chief Little Raven can even…”

“The chief’s dead, Sansa. I’m not sure about Mormont but he might be, too.”

“There was written testimony, you said. That may have survived.”

It was true. It had all been documented during a hearing. Maybe it’d not been stuck in a box and forgotten. It was worth a shot. Her father had been a judge and she probably knew more than him. 

But the other accusation lingered. Edd said Ros wasn’t here. Was Slynt? Would he bring her? He hated the thoughts of that. “What about the rest of it?” he asked his wife.

“We’ll figure that out,” she said with less certainty.

_One thing at a time._

Deciding to enjoy whatever scraps of her company he could have, he urged her to pull up a chair as he sat on the floor beside the bars and started eating. Not bothering with the chair, she sat down on the floor as well. He kept his fingers linked with hers as often as eating would allow. Through all of this, he had her steadfast support and that was something, wasn’t it?

The door opened and Edd walked back in. He looked troubled and Jon opened his mouth to at least tell Sansa about how Edd had saved him from Thorne and his fellow vigilantes earlier. He didn’t want his wife harboring any bad feelings towards Edd.

But Edd spoke before he did.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

Jon looked around the little jail house, strangely amused by the irony of his situation. “Well, you're welcome to show them in, Edd. It ain’t like I can claim I’m not at home or something.”

“This visitor ain’t here to see you, Jon.” He turned to Sansa with that same troubled look. “Mr. Bolton’s outside asking to speak with you, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a pretty firm outline for the remaining number of chapters but sometimes I chase after wild hares and things get longer. Fingers crossed anyway because I need to finish some WIPs if I'm ever going to get serious about some newer fics I'd like to write and share. 
> 
> And no matter how much I love writing them, I honestly never know how well my historical fics will be received so I want to say again how grateful I am that so many of you have embraced this little tale. Thank you for being so kind and supportive. I love you guys :)


	27. Sansa

Jon wasn’t pleased but this day had already turned plumb awful hours ago. What would one more conversation matter?

She spied Tormund and Rodrik watching from across the way as Mr. Bolton heard the door open.

Unlike his son, Roose Bolton was never lacking when it came to courtesy. He turned to give her his full attention, stubbing out his cigar and sweeping the hat from his head with a bow.

“Mrs. Snow, I thank you kindly for agreeing to speak with me.”

Sansa’s own courtesies, which had been drilled into her very early, were firmly in place. Acknowledging the bow, she bobbed her head and gave him a polite but distant smile. _I’ll manage not to spit in your face, too._

“Mr. Bolton. I’m sure you’ll understand if I say I don’t have long to speak tonight.”

“Of course, it’s late and you’ve had a wearing day, especially for a lady in your condition, I believe.”

Though she did not act, the flicker of his pale eyes towards her abdomen had her itching to cover it with her hands as if that would somehow protect her baby from this noxious man.

“What did you want?” she asked bluntly, deciding she was finished with courtesies. 

He told her exactly what he wanted. And as he did, it was hard to maintain the mask of indifference. In fact, she suspected it wouldn’t benefit her to do so. 

Part of her didn't wish to show any emotions with this snake but her father had once said battles were fought on more than just battlefields and her mother would say that a person must understand all the weapons at their disposal when entering the fray. 

Thus, tears and pitiful pleas escaped before she was finished conversing with Mr. Bolton. Sansa thought it funny how men seemed to lose their heads at times when faced with a woman’s tears though she'd never before pressed her advantage in such a way. But even hard, unfeeling men like Mr. Bolton could be rendered at a loss and he rambled on more than was wise. Men like him were rather fond of the sound of their own voice.

No, he was not truly moved by her distress whereas their two witness would be. She saw Tormund and Rodrik moving her way. Much as she appreciated them for wanting to protect her, she did not want them to interrupt. She subtly gave Rodrik a sharp look which he was quick enough to interpret. They left them be until Mr. Bolton moved away.

Edd was right at the door when she opened it again, almost as if he’d been pressed against it trying to listen. His eyes widened when he saw her red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. She gave him a cool nod and hurried back over to Jon.

Her sweet husband’s face was one of agonized concern until she started grinning. She whispered of Roose’s offer and what she’d learned. The Golden Rose for three-fourths of what he’d originally offered her for it after Willas had died in exchange for the assurance that the charges against Jon would be dismissed and he’d walk away a free man.

_“You and your husband can start fresh somewhere away from all these nasty accusations…along with your child.”_

_“How can you guarantee that, sir? The sheriff…”_

_“Is up for reelection in the fall, madam, and a prudent man if not the wisest.”_ She’d pretended to absorb that with something other than the utmost disgust. _“Mr. Thorne and his friend Mr. Slynt have been eager for a certain lady to be brought to Silverhill but she could just as easily be left in Kansas.”_

He’d looked so smug by then as if there was no way he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

She'd found satisfaction in the way his jaw had dropped when she'd said, cool as a cucumber, _“Let her come. __I do not fear her testimony anymore than I fear Mr. Thorne’s baseless lies.”_

Unfortunately, Jon was only focused on one part of the picture after she’d told it all.

“Like hell you’re selling! They can hang me tomorrow but you ain’t selling out to him!”

“They’re not hanging you and I’m not selling,” she assured him as Edd crept closer along with Tormund and Rodrik.

Jon was seething, so angry he couldn’t stand still but reduced to pacing back and forth in his small cell at a rate that would render him dizzy before long.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but did Mr. Bolton basically say that the sheriff will dismiss the charges brought against Jon if you sell your ranch to him?”

She closed her mouth, afraid of sharing too much with Karstark’s man. She felt Jon’s finger on her cheek, wiping away the tears she’d stole off a crocodile. “Talk to him, darling. Tell him everything.”

“How do I know he won’t go report it back to his boss and twist it against us?” she asked, giving Edd a cold look of appraisal.

Edd's sad-eyed grimace gave her a guilty pang. Perhaps she wasn't being fair to the deputy but it had been a long day and she was still shaken by the large posse of men he'd been a part of coming to her home and taking her husband away. 

“Har! She really is right steamed at you, ain't she? That's what happens when you work of men like that Karfart!” 

“You work for him too now, Tormund.”

“Shit on that. I swore my oath to you, deputy. I’m your man.”

"Mind your language around the lady, you braying fool."

Meanwhile, Jon had had enough of her doubting Edd. “This animosity towards Edd ends now, Sansa. He saved my life today. I know you were fired up over him coming out to the house earlier but you’re gonna let go of that for me and speak to him.”

“What do you mean he saved your life today?”

“I’ll tell you after you tell him what Bolton said.”

After she did, she learned of Mr. Thorne’s plan to hang Jon on the side of the road with no trial just a few miles from their home. She was sickened.

Edd did not speak up for himself but Jon was busy singing his praises for verbally confronting the larger group of vigilantes with his small group of loyal men. She felt shame for ever doubting him and told him as much.

“It’s alright, ma’am. I can understand your anger.”

“I’m still sorry for judging you harshly and I believe I've already asked you to call me Sansa, Edd," she told him, reaching to clasp hands with him.

“Sansa,” he repeated as he accepted her handshake. 

His lips twitched into a wry grin which would seem out of place on that dour face to those who weren’t blessed enough to call Edd Tollett their friend.

The next second he grabbed the brass key off his desk and paced over the Jon's cell. Jon's eyes widened as hers likely did. "I can't let you go but give me your oath now and I'll let your wife sit with you a spell."

"You have my oath."

Nothing could've been more welcome after the day she'd had than to feel Jon's arms around her as soon as the cell door swung open and she stepped inside to join him. After their parting this afternoon, she'd sworn she would fight for him but that did not mean she hadn't worried she might never be held by him again. The others started talking amongst themselves, ignoring them enough for Jon's lips to brush hers once, twice...and once more. 

"God Almighty, I'm so glad you're here even if I didn't want you setting foot in such a place as this."

"It's not so bad. Nothing like the awful prisons I've read about in novels. With a few homey touches, I'm sure we could make do here," she teased.

"It'd need some curtains for privacy." He waggled his eyebrows to emphasize his meaning.

"You're wicked, Jon Snow," she whispered, mortified that the others would overhear. Then, she grinned right back at him. "It's a very good thing that I'm capable of making curtains."

"A very good thing. My wife has many talents and I'm lucky to have her." 

They sat on the cot together, their hands linked. “I suppose he’ll send for Ros now after my refusal,” she said quietly.

“I reckon he might.”

“I’m not afraid of anything she’s got to say.”

“Your faith in me will keep me strong, wife,” he murmured.

The others' conversation grew harder to ignore and Rodrik brought up good point.

“I don’t get why Mr. Bolton would come to Sansa tonight like this and practically admit his role in this corruption. His idiot boy might’ve tried that but he’s more cunning, I thought.”

“Because of what happened earlier, I’d say. Karstark was there when Edd spoke up for me and rode off right after Thorne’s men did. He likely went back to report all of it to Bolton and maybe old Roose started worrying that I might wind up dead before any trial takes place. He's wanted the Golden Rose a long time, you said."

"That's true. Everyone in town knew it. Even made Mr. Tyrell an offer before Sansa come out here."

"Well, he's been patient but sometimes patience wears thin. And, it wouldn’t be much leverage for Sansa to sell if he can only promise her my corpse in return.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Jon.”

“My apologies, darling,” he said, kissing her hand.

“What good does it do them men though if they’ve made friends with Mr. Bolton to act before the trial? If he’s the one who paid their way out here?”

“I don’t think they care about what Mr. Bolton wants,” Jon snorted. “Alliser wants me dead. Slynt, too. They were humiliated during the farce of a trial I had over the cattle rustling and the shootings. I think Mr. Bolton benefitting from them catching up to me ain’t really their concern. He probably realized it after Karstark told him how brazen Alliser was. I think he hoped he might play on Sansa’s fears tonight and get his way before they could pull anything else.”

“They might come here tonight or any night while you're here and we wait for the judge,” Rodrick said after mulling that over.

The thought had already crossed Jon’s mind more than once, Sansa suspected. “Then, you’re taking Sansa home right now.”

“Jon, I can’t leave town while worrying that you’re not safe.”

“But you’ll be safer at home and…”

Rodrik interrupted the start of their bickering. “No, I reckon I’ll see Sansa to the hotel and send a message for some of the others to come here and help me keep watch over you. I know you didn’t let the boys and Mychel fight earlier but we can stand guard.”

She didn’t like being shuffled off to the hotel but she would bend that much. If trouble was going to happen here tonight, she’d only be in the way and she knew how stubborn Jon would be about her safety.

“I’m here,” Tormund said with offended pride. “I don’t need nothing but my Repeater and my lucky flask to keep my Little Snow safe from that slime Thorne. He can’t hit the side of a barn no how.”

“You against ‘em all, huh?” Jon laughed.

“Maybe,” Tormund shrugged.

Sansa did not wish to leave her husband’s life in the hands of maybe and a lucky flask. Neither did Edd.

“I’ll call in Emmett and Halder. We’ll keep watch. You and Tormund can stay and two, three more men. This place will be cramped enough for that many. We’ll leave the lanterns burning though and switch out pairs of men out front often to make it look like we’ve got more than we do.”

“And the sheriff?” Rodrik asked.

“Not him. If Karstark’s wrapped up in this, he don’t belong in office and he ain’t welcome here tonight.”

“He already doesn’t belong in office, Edd. Get your head out of the sand and talk to my mining friends. He’s crooked and should get the heave-ho.”

“I’ll talk to them all and then I’m gonna talk to the judge. Silverhill deserves someone better.”

“They do, Edd, and we all know someone who would do a fairer job,” Jon told him.

“Who?”

Sansa had to smother the urge to laugh at his sweet obliviousness.

* * *

There had been no trouble that first night at the jail. There’d been no trouble the following days either to her knowledge and, while Sansa had liked being closer to him for that first night in her room at the Stag, life on the ranch went on and she had responsibilities. 

She’d returned home the next day and took up her burdens again as cheerily as she could manage, only letting her worries and tears come out at night in her lonely bed. It was not completely lonely though.

“You miss him too, don’t you, boy?” she asked Ghost when he scratched at the parlor door one night after Jon had been gone a few days. “We’ll miss him together,” she declared, welcoming the animal into her bedroom and raising no objections when he made himself at home on her bed, only threatening him with a bath. “Frequent baths perhaps because you smell a little too strongly for indoors.”

The dog whimpered so she patted his head, grateful for his company even if he could not take her husband’s place. No one could do that. 

May was a busy time at the Rose and being a man down was hard enough, not to mention that the other four were tired from keeping watch in shifts over Jon by night. Mya was a wonder to Sansa but she could not be the only one at full-strength to work and care for the horses for long. Beth was no horsewoman and Sansa’s condition did not allow for her to safely do too much. And between their gardening, the house, the cooking and canning, laundry and Micah to watch, her and Beth were already busy from dawn until dusk as it was. 

But thankfully, they were not lacking in friends.

Brienne and Loras were the first to come offer their help. Brienne said that Alyce could manage at the Log for a bit without her now that Brienne had hired a couple of more former doves to help and Renly could manage the hotel perfectly well without him for a few days, Loras said. 

They were followed by several of Tormund’s friends from the mines and Mychel’s from the mill including Cletus Yronwood with Mr. Tallheart’s and the mining captain’s blessings. Her bunkhouse was full again like it hadn’t been since Willas had been alive. Those poor men worked long hours but none complained and they thanked her graciously for the food she placed on her table each night for whoever had come out to help that day. 

With the random additions and the coming and going of the ones who had called the ranch their home the longest, supper became less orderly. However, Jon’s seat was never filled except by Sansa herself and only when their numbers required her to do so. 

One mill worker who’d come out to work a day had made the mistake early on of taking his seat while Sansa and Beth were still bringing out dishes. He was roughly jerked from it by Wex. Sansa admonished the boy to make his apologies, nonverbally of course.

Wex scribbled out SORRY on his little notepad but didn’t look it one bit. 

“I’m very sorry, sir, but that is where Mr. Snow is meant to sit,” she explained to smooth over any ruffled feathers.

The man nodded and none questioned it any further nor attempted to take Jon’s place again.

With everyone working so hard, it would be an unnecessary hardship to expect Rodrik or the others to drive the wagon into town every day for her simply because she wanted to visit with her husband. She hated it though. The thoughts of Jon locked up day after day was enough to break her heart. He was not meant for sitting around and he definitely didn’t belong behind bars. From a young age, he’d worked but he’d never complained of it.

_“I ain’t never been a rich man nor an idle one but seems to me, ain’t no joy to be found in relaxing if that’s all you ever do. It’s only satisfying when you know the opposite of it, don’t you think, darling?”_

_“I wholeheartedly agree, husband.”_

He should be a free man. He belonged outdoors by day and in her bed by night. 

The days it was impossible to make it into town to visit, she’d send a note and some token of affection along with something he enjoyed eating via someone. She took to drawing flowers by her name when she signed her love letters like the ones etched into the band he had given her the day they’d married. 

She did not speak of sorrowful matters in her letters, only hopeful ones. Jon’s disposition could run to melancholy sitting like he was and she didn’t want that. 

She spoke of their coming baby, of Micah and Little Sam who would come visit with his mother and grandmother. She mentioned that Micah might have a brother or sister next year and that Mya and Mychel had lingered after services on Sunday and asked Reverend Chayle to marry them that day. Mya had insisted on no fuss with things as they stood but Beth had promised to keep Micah in her room that night and Mychel had carried his bride into their bedroom right after supper and neither had emerged until breakfast the next day. 

“I hate that you missed that opportunity to tease Mya over it,” she said aloud as she wrote. She did not include that. He would be sorry enough for missing the joyous occasion. 

She wrote of their friends and the wonderful people coming out to help on the ranch and the young colts and fillies being born as well as each sale she'd made. 

She told him of Sam’s work on his behalf, not that he didn’t know, and the telegram Chapawee and Gilly had sent in hopes of stirring someone with the Arapahoe to speak on his behalf if needed. 

She even told him of walking in on Beth and Pod kissing in the kitchen quite by accident today. 

_They both jumped like they’d been shot when I gasped but then the three of us were smiling and giggling like children at each other before long, _she wrote. _They are too young to marry just yet maybe but not far off. Pod promptly begged me not to tell Rodrik until he spoke to him. As if I would do such a thing! _

She pressed her hand over her belly when she finished at last. Little flutters within were just starting to become noticeable and Mya had confirmed her suspicions.

“When you grow big enough for your movements to be felt by someone else besides me, I want your daddy home,” she told the little one.

Immediately, she was forced to dash away some tears. They would do her no good tonight. 

Ghost laid his head in her lap, looking up at her with mournful eyes. 

“We’ll get him back home again soon, won’t we?” she whispered. 

The dog didn’t know of course. He only licked her face. She hoped he didn’t mind the saltiness of her tears.

* * *

“But it’s apple,” she stammered. “You love my apple pie.” 

There was a silly, superstitious part of Sansa that wondered if Jon might’ve started to fall in love with her the day he’d first tasted her apple pie. Plus, they’d shared it on their wedding day. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I just don’t have my usual appetite.”

He put down his fork with the slice half eaten and set it back on the table just outside his cell. He’d not finished the piece of fried chicken or the biscuit she’d brought either. 

“That’s a shame, Little Snow. No need wasting.” Tormund promptly picked up the unfinished food and started in on it even after devouring his own. 

Sansa couldn’t even be riled by that. She was too worried about Jon. His hair was getting longish and his whiskers a little wild but that was nothing so strange. There were dark circles under his eyes. She doubted he was sleeping well. She wasn’t either. He was paler from nearly three weeks in jail, too.

But in his eyes, there was something missing tonight. The spark or twinkle that usually lit them up when she walked in the door was diminished. It had been three days since her last visit. Did he think she’d abandon him? 

“I meant to come sooner.”

“I know. Spring's busy on a ranch. You don’t need to waste your time coming here to see me.”

“I don’t consider seeing you a waste of my time.”

“Well, I may have put it poorly. I’m not so learned as some…nor so rich and mighty.”

That troubled her. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, darling. Thank you for visiting.”

He laid down on his cot and turned away from her, his voice quavering strangely. She impotently grasped the iron bars that kept them apart and shook them. Jon did not respond. 

Sheriff Karstark had cottoned on at last that his authority was starting to be questioned what with Edd deputizing people, one of whom didn’t give two figs for the sheriff or 'Karfart' as Tormund had taken to calling him even to his face, and also going around to ask questions about some of the other deputies and dealings that were suspect. 

So, the sheriff in a flurry of activity had forbidden the cell door being unlocked again among other things. It’d been days since she’d been able to do more than hold Jon’s hand through the bars. She craved his touch like a drunk might crave liquor. She wondered if Jon felt the same. That and he was bound to be lowly anyway, sitting here left to rot for days and awaiting an uncertain fate. 

But tonight, it seemed to Sansa that something else was amiss and he was going to tell her what it was. 

Poor Edd probably hadn’t spent more than four hours away from the jail at a stretch since Jon’s arrest and Sansa worried he’d be as pale and tired looking as Jon before long. He’d stepped out for his own supper when she’d arrived, leaving Tormund in charge…which suited Sansa just fine at the moment. 

“Tormund Giantsbane?”

Tormund swallowed the last of the pie guiltily at her sharp tone. “Uh…yes, Sansa?”

“Open up this cell door right this minute.”

“Well, I would but I’m deputized now. I don’t wanna get Edd in trouble or…” 

“Open it up and lock me inside with my husband.” 

“But we can’t keep you here.”

“I know that! Open it up and lock me inside with my husband for a little while. And go pay Brienne a brief visit at the Log while you’re at it. She likes the cherry cordials they sell at the mercantile if you was wanting to do something sweet.”

Tormund’s gums were flapping but no coherent sounds were coming out. 

“Shit,” he muttered finally, tempted by her suggestion and wanting to do as she pleased anyway. “She’s a good ‘un, Little Snow,” he told Jon as he opened the door and locked her inside. 

“I know it,” her husband replied, sitting up on his cot again.

“Don’t be getting carried away," he added, waggling those bushy eyebrows of his. "That Emmett’s due in soon and he’s not so easy-going as me. And you sure don't want to give him no bawdy show with your wife.”

“Shut up and go buy that gal some cordials or whatever. Try not to eat ‘em all once you give ‘em to her either.”

When they were alone, she rushed into his arms. He groaned, pulling her into his lap, and they shared a kiss but there was still that same broken look in his eyes.

“What’s happened today?” She brushed his hair back from his brow and cupped his sweet face when he looked mulish and kept his mouth closed. “We share our burdens, husband.”

That was all it took for him to open up and let it out. Mr. Thorne had been by when Karstark had been there earlier, hissing out his threats and weighing on Jon's already depressed spirts. Worse, Roose Bolton had paid a call on him yesterday. Jon hadn’t been moved to tears over his combination of honeyed promises and ominous threats but it had worked on him.

“Sooner or later, he gets his way. Wasn’t that what Mychel said that fool at the mill told him?”

“_Shh_, doesn’t matter. We’re going to be alright.” 

“I want to be there for you, for our baby, Sansa.”

“I know you do. You will be.”

“As what? Bones rotting six feet under with an epitaph to keep you company?”

“Don’t say that. It breaks my heart to hear you speak so.”

“The last thing I ever wanna do is break your heart. It breaks mine, too. You were the best thing to ever happen to me but I'm much more used to losing in life than winning. And now with her arriving and Bolton wanting what he wants and Alliser promising I'll be dead one way or another I'm...” 

The last words were a whisper and his eyes filled with tears. Her husband was not a man given to weeping easily and it hurt her so to see it. _Damn them all to hell,_ she thought angrily as she held him tightly. _They will not take you from me._

* * *

  
Edd had returned before Tormund. He’d taken one look at the pair of them lying side by side on the cot, fully dressed of course, and unlocked the cell door again before reporting that the Circuit Judge was due the next day.

_“He might set you a bond, Jon.”_

_“He ain’t gonna set me a bond with these charges, Edd, and we both know it.”_

_“Well, we can get on with this at least.”_

She’d not shared her plans for the rest of the evening, knowing Jon would wish to dissuade her. Edd would as well. Even Sam Tarly might do the same since some might cry witness tampering or whatever but seemed like the house held all the cards at the moment. It was about time they had a break.

“Good evening, Mrs. Snow,” Renly said brightly when she entered the Stag a short time later.

“Good evening to you, Mr. Baratheon. I was wondering if I might take a bite of supper here tonight. Pod’s still visiting with friends at the Log and it’s late. I figured all the food at home might be ate up by the time I get there.”

“Why, certainly, ma’am. Would you care for some company while you eat or would you prefer to dine alone?”

It was kind of him to offer. A lady dining alone might be pestered, even in a reputable place like the Stag. It was also bothersome how often she seemed to run across Mr. Thorne or Mr. Bolton in town, neither of which she wanted to see. _And he’s bound to know his guests. _

“Sit with me if your work allows.” 

She had planned to ask about any new guests once they were seated. She didn’t need to. 

Seated in the dining room with a balding man was a woman Sansa had never before laid eyes on though instinct immediately told her who she was. Jon had never spoken of her in any detail but Sansa had a notion or two. She was not smiling at the moment but Sansa thought she might be given to smiles normally. It would help when it came to coaxing a young and bashful cowhand into speaking with her years ago. 

Ros was very beautiful with dark red hair but, though she was only six or so years older, she’d already lived a much harder life than Sansa and it was apparent. Even with the deaths of her beloved family, she'd never had to endure the things Ros probably had. But what might have come of her if she’d remained with Aunt Lysa with no money if she’d not received a respectably offer from Willas? She felt sympathy for this woman despite the circumstances. She hoped her sympathies were not misplaced.

The man with her was speaking loudly, very full of himself. His voice was noisome and his words uncouth. Ros held her head high as if she wished to rise above him to a place she could no longer hear his croaking and maybe pretend his ugly face wasn't before hers. 

He had been drinking and mentioned needing to 'take a piss' loud enough for others to hear. Renly rolled his eyes and whispered that he’d be happy to see the back of his new guest. His face reminded Sansa of a frog and she despised him, the long awaited Mr. Slynt who had brought Ros out here so he could see Jon hung for something he never did. 

As soon as the man passed by her, Sansa saw the way Ros’ façade crumpled. She looked wretched and self-conscious as she sank in upon herself. It reminded her a little of Gilly's discomfort here in this fancy establishment the night they'd met. 

Sansa made up her mind. 

“Renly, would you care to introduce me to the lady over there?”

“The lady,” he repeated just on the edge of sarcasm. “You know who that is, don’t you, Sansa?”

“I do.”

Renly shook his head and she wondered if he’d make the introduction or if he’d chide her as Jon or Edd or Mr. Tarly might. “Loras says you’re a clever girl and that Willas said the same of you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“He also said you're incredibly kind-hearted which I know to be a fact.”

“Thank you. I’m not here to harangue her or frighten her.”

“You want to hear the truth of the matter.”

“I know the truth of the matter as it pertains to Jon. I'd like to know something of her circumstances if she'll agree to speak with me. I'd like to know if she’s happy here with that man. I want to know if she wouldn’t prefer a different sort of life or if she misses Kansas dreadfully.”

He studied her for a moment. “The shepherd,” he murmured, looking amused. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"I’m not a religious man.”

She blinked, baffled by this turn of the conversation. “Alright.”

“But I have my moments.”

“I suppose we all do.”

“You let Loras come out here and stay when you could’ve said no.”

“It only seemed right. Willas loved his family very much.”

“He only wanted to come when he heard I was intent on building my hotel here.”

“I am aware. Well, I’m aware of that now.”

“Brienne can’t say enough kind things about you.”

“I will gladly do the same by her."

"There are many who have been cruel to her."

"There are many who are great asses if you'll forgive me for being crude."

“Mya Stone would’ve been turned off most places after she wound up pregnant with no husband two years ago.”

“Our ranch is not most places and she didn’t commit a crime or anything. Willas hired her in the first place but she’s like my sister now. She belongs with us.”

“Podrick Payne had nothing but a mean drunk of an uncle and knew nothing about horses when he was hired on, Rodrik mentioned once.”

“He’s a good boy and he works hard.”

“Wex had nothing at all. He couldn’t even read or write.”

“Also, a good boy and anyone can be taught to read and write."

"Jon Snow was a drifter looking for a job when he walked onto your ranch in October. Now, he's your husband and the father of your child."

"And my heart and soul as well. You must gossip a great deal."

"A weakness of mine, I confess."

"I’m sorry. I don’t understand the point of this.”

“You’re the good shepherd, Mrs. Snow. You have your flock and you protect them.”

"I suppose I do. I like helping people."

He stood and offered her his hand to help her to her feet. “Come and meet my lovely, lonely and rather miserably guest. Maybe you’ll get along smashingly and guide her to something better.”

She smiled and accepted his hand. “Stranger things have happened, my dear Mr. Baratheon. Do me a favor and keep her companion occupied for a few minutes if he should return sooner than desired.” 


	28. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's day in court brings some surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope all of you are staying well and that you'll enjoy this chapter!

Judge Qhorin had arrived two days ago and Edd had told him last night that the clerk was docketing criminal cases to be heard in the town hall at last.

_“Yours is the only felony matter we got for him so it’s being seen to first thing tomorrow.”_

Much as he was sick of his cell, Jon couldn’t say the thought of facing the judge brought him much comfort. He wanted to believe that things would work out but he didn’t entirely share his wife’s optimism. Plus, there was just so much hinging on the outcome for anyone to truly rest easy over it.

The only other case he’d seen the judge preside over had been the Frey boy’s trial after the attack at the ranch. That had ended in a hanging, the only outcome Jon would’ve expected considering but still…_not much comfort to be found there._

“Why’s he called the Halfhand?” he asked Edd over their biscuits and coffee to distract himself from the upcoming day. “I mean, I noticed he’s only got half a right hand when he was here before but he seems alright with folks calling him that.”

“Yeah, I reckon he don’t mind it. Once a plaintive in some other little one-horse town didn’t like the judge’s decision in a property matter from what I heard. Good and soaked, the fool confronted the judge in the town’s saloon that night and threatened him with a shotgun. He did manage to blow off half the judge’s hand in the wrangle that followed but the Halfhand promptly beat the idiot to death with his own shotgun.” Edd shrugged. “Ain’t nobody argued with any of his decisions since then.”

“Land matter, huh? He friendly with Mr. Bolton?”

“Nah, not that I know of. I spoke to him ‘bout Bolton, Jon. I spoke to him about lots of things 'round here on your behalf," Edd added, dropping his voice in case the walls had ears. _Probably a prudent idea_. "I can't promise he'll listen to me but I tried.”

That at least was a bit of comfort. “Thank you, Edd.”

Sansa had come to visit again last night, the one thing that truly brightened his weary days here in jail. She’d baked him a cobbler this time around and he’d eaten up every bite which pleased her greatly. She’d then got her way with Iron Emmett even and been permitted to join him in the cell so she could trim his hair and whiskers.

_“He needs to look respectable for the judge.”_

She’d brought some fresh clothes, too.

_“I believe this shirt is new,”_ he’d said, far more pleased by that than he should be. _Especially considering they might wind up hanging me in it_. He’d known better than to say that and she’d been happy he’d noticed her handiwork.

However, his clever wife had been up to more than making shirts and baking cobblers.

_“She’s got a little girl back in Kansas,” _she'd told him after she'd admitted having a little woman-to-woman chat with Ros the other night. He’d gulped, ashamed and horrified for a moment that his wife was about to tell him he was already a daddy._ “She’s only four and those wretched men have been using the mother’s love to manipulate her into coming here.”_ He’d been busy breathing a sigh of relief, having counted up the years since he’d last laid with Ros and realized there was no way he could’ve fathered the child, when he’d felt Sansa’s hand on his knee._ “Jon, I’ve been asking some other folks and I think I’ve got a place she can work and someplace she can live with her daughter. I want to help her.”_

Of course, she did. Sansa would help damn near anyone.

She’d been wearing a look, one that said she was worried what he’d think of all that.

He’d taken her hands in his and kissed her brow. _“You know, as pretty as you are, and there are no women so beautiful to my eyes as you…your true beauty lies inside you, Sansa. Your kindness is one of the many things I love so dearly about you.”_

Her smile in response had made his heart soar last night, never mind the rest of his worries.

The door opened this morning though and his worries walked right back in.

“Is the prisoner ready, Deputy Tollett?” the sheriff sniffed while adjusting his fancy cravat.

“All set, Sheriff.”

"You enjoy your last meal, Snow?" Karstark asked with a leer as he stood outside the cell while Edd unlocked it. 

"He enjoyed his breakfast," Edd answered for him. "His wife brought biscuits, apple butter and ham last night, enough for us all to share last night and this morning. Shame you missed out."

Karstark didn't look happy to hear it. “Very well. Bind his hands and lead him to the courthouse.”

Jon’s heart started pumping faster, his nerves kicking up now that it was time. He swallowed hard as Edd put the shackles on his wrists with a displeased look and reminded himself to be brave for his wife.

* * *

A year ago, if someone had asked Jon Snow who might vouch for him in time of need, he probably wouldn’t have needed all the fingers on one hand to count them…and one of those would’ve been Ghost. 

But today? 

He really couldn’t begin to describe what it meant to him walking into the town hall to find a crowd of friendly faces waiting. Yes, Thorne, old frog-faced Slynt and a couple of their men were there but they were flanked by the deputies who had stood guard at night so faithfully on Edd’s orders during his captivity to ensure that they’d not tried to take justice into their hands again. Mr. Bolton was there as well acting like the biggest toad in the puddle with Karstark sidling up next to him. He told himself that didn’t matter and focused on the faces that did. 

Reverend Chayle and Doc Luwin shook hands with him as he made his way towards the front, ushered there by Edd and Halder…until Tormund gave Halder a shove out of the way so he could be by his side. Jon saw Brienne with Alyce and a couple of the girls from the Log. A few of the local ranchers, landowners who probably wouldn’t have given a cowpoke like him the time of day once upon a time, tipped their hats to him and their ladies nodded politely. Poole was there from the mercantile and Mr. Tallheart had come along with a few of the fellers from the mill and several of Tormund’s friends from the mine. 

Then, there was his family, the family of his heart even if they didn’t share his blood: Mya and Mychel holding Micah between them with Mya leaning forward to ask if he’d had enough of lazing around yet because she needed his help breaking some of the new stock. Then, Rodrik with his sweet Beth, Pod and Wex all there and smiling at him. Loras and Renly were wearing their best bib and tucker like a couple of swells and gave him an encouraging word apiece. And last of all, sitting beside Gilly Tarly and her mother right behind where Sam and him would be sitting was Sansa, looking like a breath of fresh air and every inch a lady in her dove grey dress trimmed with ivory lace. 

“Wife,” he said solemnly after nodding to Gilly and Chapawee. 

She looked him up and down with his hair combed and his new shirt on under his vest. She nodded, apparently satisfied. “Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Snow. You clean up mighty fine,” she whispered with twinkle in her eye making him feel another foot taller maybe before Edd led him to his seat. 

The first part of the trial passed favorably enough. Slynt stood up, appointing himself as the plaintiff in the matter. Judge Qhorin asked what his qualifications were and only seemed perplexed when Slynt said that he’d been the magistrate when the matter had been heard in Kansas originally. 

“If the matter’s been heard already, why're we here? And why’s a bunch of offenses out of Kansas being brought before me here in Colorado?”

Slynt went on to say that there had been interference from the local law enforcement there and told how the cowardly defendant had run when he’d known he was cornered. 

Qhorin chewed on that a spell until a couple of names got brought up in the cattle rustling accusation and the resulting shootout. 

“Wait a minute. Jeor Mormont is the sheriff you’re talking about?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. 

“Yes, that’s the one, sir. I’ve never seen such a misuse of power or…”

“Misuse of power? Jeor? He’s one of the finest lawmen I’ve ever known and if you’re no longer a magistrate after Jeor called you out, I reckon I can figure where the misuse of power was. I suggest you take a seat and hobble your lip, sir.”

There were some snickers around the courtroom at that though Jon wasn’t prepared to join in yet.

Next, Alliser stood and took up his tales of the shooting. “The boy joined forces with the Indians against us, his own people, with the intent to steal the cattle we were driving to Kansas City.”

Samwell Tarly jumped to his feet with objections. Jon couldn’t say he understood half the flood of Latin or legal jargon coming out of Sam’s mouth but Thorne was in the same boat as him at least. Mr. Bolton however was starting to look mighty low…like he’d burnt his fingers or backed the wrong horse. 

“In fact, Your Honor, if it pleases the Court, I’d like to call my assistant up with some actual evidence in this matter in the face of Mr. Thorne’s baseless tales which includes court documents from the Kansas City Court signed by Judge Mormont and Little Raven, the Arapahoe Chief, who originally submitted written testimony in this matter.” The judge nodded and Sam turned to his wife. “Dear?”

Gilly stood and made her way to the judge’s bench. Jon didn’t like the way Thorne stared at Sam’s wife and mother-in-law. He wondered how much he’d learned here in town during his stay. He knew Alliser's ignorant hate ran to the bone.

Judge Qhorin took the offered papers from Gilly and took his time reading over them. He harrumphed and set his spectacles on the bench once he was done. “I believe you’re dead right about all this business, Deputy Tollett,” he said, eyeing the accusers, the sheriff and Mr. Bolton with a chilling look. 

Edd looked ready to swallow his own tongue being singled out by the judge that way but Jon had a sneaking suspicion things might indeed be going their way.

_Well, they were._

“I’ve heard enough about the cattle rustling and shooting. Y'all ain't got no legs to stand on and I'm mighty annoyed you'd waste the Court's time in this manner. Bring forth your other witness and you'd better hope you've got something better than a load of outright lies and hearsay,” Qhorin told Slynt and Thorne. 

The backdoor opened and he saw a swirl of green and black silks as Todder led her in. Jon decided to study his lap. Much as he meant to be brave for Sansa, he had a lot of mixed emotions over Ros being here; guilt over her circumstances (though he was not the one to blame for that), guilt over their past and his unthinking youth (though his wife didn’t hold that against him) and a sincere wish that times hadn’t turned so hard for her. But also there were some hard feelings and sense of misuse over the lies she’d told of him, willingly or not.

The clerk read off the charge laid at his feet, the one that had led to him running from Kansas. 

"Could you confirm those charges, madam?" the judge asked. 

Jon's stomach was knotted up in a ball as he held his breath. 

“No, I can’t do that, sir,” she answered quietly.

The courtroom erupted like a beehive turned over no sooner than the words were out of her mouth. He heard Tormund whoop and Slynt hissing vile things at her. The judge nearly banged a hole in his bench quietening them all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edd’s deputies making a wall between his accusers and the witness on the stand. 

When the murmuring died out at last, Jon looked up from his lap. Her blue eyes were imploring, asking his pardon for the ugliness she’d been drug into. He hoped his could effectively communicate what he couldn’t say here. _ I don’t blame you really and I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated. _Sansa was right wanting to help her. She could have a better life here in Silverhill with her girl if she wanted. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but would you mind repeating that one more time for the clerk to get it down?” Sam asked.

Resolved, Ros lifted her chin, staring Slynt down. “I can and I will. Those charges are false. Jon Snow never raped me. My employer owed money to that man, Mr. Slynt, who brought me out here. Nearly five years ago, they were all furious over losing their court case and made to look bad so they forced me to lodge those false charges. It weren’t true though, none of it was. I didn’t want to do it, Your Honor, but I couldn’t lose my place, especially then. It was a bad time for me to be without work,” she said as her hand dropped to her belly. 

“Because you were with child, ma’am?”

She nodded, her eyes tearing up. He looked back at Sansa who was busy nodding encouragingly at Ros. “Yes. I ignored my conscience over the matter in time because I thought Jon was out of their reach for good but they found him here thanks to some fellas nosing around for their own reasons, I suppose.” Mr. Bolton became very interested in the ceiling at that point while the sheriff’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish. “They came to me and said I might have to travel west and testify. I refused at first. That’s when they threatened me.”

“Threatened you, ma’am?”

“They said if I didn’t do as they said, they’d have me run out of town on a rail and I’d never see my little girl again.” She choked back a sob, turning to the judge. “My girl lives with my mama. She doesn't know what I am but I go and see her much as I can. I couldn't bear being kept from my girl. I’m very sorry for…”

Judge Qhorin reached down from his bench, patting her hand, with a fatherly look of concern…right before he exploded with righteous indignation leveled at Slynt and Thorne both. Threats of new charges to be laid were made and the courtroom was more like a hornet's nest now. 

“What’s this mean for my client, Your Honor?” Sam asked, doing his best not to dance a jig where he stood. 

Meanwhile, Tormund was already dancing a little jig where he stood nearby and following it up with rude gestures towards ‘Karfart.’

“It means these charges are dismissed.” 

"But we had over a dozen character witnesses that were going to speak, Your Honor, and..."

"Mr. Tarly, your client is free to go so hush up. Bailiff, I want the following men detained for questioning by the Court: Janos Slynt, Alliser Thorne..." 

Jon couldn't even draw a proper breath. He was still trying to convince himself he’d not imagined those words 'free to go.' But here was Edd, freeing his wrists. He looked into that honest face. "Some days, I like my job alright," Edd told him before cracking a smile. They embraced quickly and his brain was finally accepting that yes, he really was free. The past that had haunted him for so long wasn't going to continue to chase him around the rest of his life. He could go home. 

_Home_. He felt weak in the knees at the mere thought of that word and everything it entailed...starting with the woman he loved more than life itself.

Inhaling deeply at last, he turned around to face her, his beloved who'd never given up on him, who'd believed this was possible even when he'd been deep in doubt. 

"I reckon I'll need to beg a ride home, ma'am," he told her, the grin spreading across his face as unstoppable as a runaway train.

She laughed, her expression of relief and joy matching his own. "Licorice is tied up behind the hotel waiting to take you. Mya says the ornery beast won't let nobody else ride him," she said before rushing to his arms. 

And, Jon Snow kissed his darling wife for all he was worth right smack dab in the middle of the town hall. He didn't mind that half the town was there to witness it in the least.

* * *

Spilling out through the townhall doors with Sansa tucked against his side, Jon noted more than a few curly wolves loitering about, no friends of his. He steered his wife the other direction and their friends followed. 

Looking up at the blue sky and reveling in the warmth of the May sunshine, he stopped to relish it since he’d been too preoccupied to do so earlier this morning. He drew a deep breath before exhaling slowly. It’d been twenty-three days since he’d last been under this sky as a free man. Twenty-three days since he’d rode a horse. Twenty-three days since he’d seen the Rose. Twenty-four since he’d last made love to his wife. He had some catching up to do.

“You alright?” Sansa asked quietly.

“I’m fine. Just right overcome with joy at the moment, darling.” 

It was true. He was a free man and going home. Nothing could be finer. He would’ve tossed his hat in the air to express his jubilation. _If I had a hat to toss. _

“Hey!” Pod exclaimed a second later.

“You’ll get it back,” Jon chuckled, mussing Pod’s hair. “What you doing going heeled in town anyhow?” he asked, eyeing the Colts he wore. 

“I’m a man,” Pod shrugged. “Plenty of men go heeled in town, don’t they?” 

“Yeah, I reckon so. Seems to me though that you’re a man wearing another man’s guns.”

Pod was flushed when he straightened from retrieving his hat and dusting it off. “I know they're yours. I was planning on handing them back after the trial but…” He looked over his shoulder where Beth was standing with Rodrik. “Can I give ‘em to you back at the ranch?”

“Alright.” He didn’t need his guns at the moment and he wouldn’t wound Pod’s pride taking them off of him here in the street. Besides, he was busy eyeing Wex’s hat to toss next. That boy was too clever by half though and swiftly ducked behind Tormund. 

“My Little Snow!” the big man bellowed, crushing him like a lesser man might crush a hat between his hands. 

“I lived Tormund. Don’t kill me now.” Tormund let him go and kissed Sansa’s cheek. “And don’t be kissing on my wife with that tumbleweed beard of yours scratching up her soft skin!” 

Tormund only laughed at him before declaring there was to be a huge celebration over at the Log. “With drinks on the house!”

“I beg your pardon?!” Brienne asked sharply. 

“Well, I…” Tormund scratched at his chin guiltily. “I could certainly pay for a dozen drinks but, uh…”

“We’ll buy our own drinks, Brienne,” Renly said. “I’ll even bring a few bottles of bubbly over from the hotel to share.” 

Brienne was rolling her eyes at Tormund but had decided she didn’t dislike the idea. “No, it’s alright. Free round at the Log but only for friends of Jon Snow today. _One_ free drink,” she stressed. 

“You gonna make some new friends today, Jon,” Mya said, elbowing him in the ribs. 

Whoops and cheers from the dozen or so folks surrounding them erupted. Word would spread like a bush fire and poor Brienne might find herself overrun with customers today. 

“That’s so kind of you, Brienne…” Sansa began.

“It was my idea,” Tormund muttered.

“…though I do believe I’ll just have a lemonade if you have any.”

“I always have lemonade for you, Sansa.” 

“Would you care to join us?” Sansa asked, turning towards the Tarlys. “All of you are welcome,” she added with a glance towards Ros who was standing behind the main group of them, looking quite lost. 

“Thank you. You’re too kind, Mrs. Snow,” she replied with a grateful bob of her head. 

“She certainly is,” Jon agreed, kissing his wife’s hand. 

“Yes, come along, my dear,” Loras said in his friendly way to Ros. “Renly and I would love to have your company and the champagne will be flowing. And, by the way, Mrs. Snow tells us you like to sing. Do you ever perform for others, ma’am?”

Jon shook his head, wondering just how long Sansa had talked with Ros the other night and what all she might’ve shared. _Better not think too hard on that. Could turn right embarrassing for sure._ He did recall that Ros’ had a lovely voice from when she’d been a saloon girl years ago. She could certainly sing quite well…though Jon would argue that his wife’s voice was sweeter. 

“Well, I have been known to warble a tune or two in my time, sir.”

“Excellent. Renly, I told you I’d find us a singer for our San Francisco venture.”

“A singer?! In San Francisco?!”

“Oh, that’s still a long ways off,” Renly explained. 

“But I have a daughter…”

“Nothing wrong with that. You should send for her. Silverhill’s a respectable enough place to raise your little lamb or even a flock, isn’t it, Mrs. Snow?” Renly asked with a wink.

“It is, Mr. Baratheon.”

“But I don’t have any…”

“We could pay her train fare and your mother’s too if you wish.”

“I can’t just take your money and…”

“We could consider it an advance on your wages if you like. We’re just thinking through ideas for now as far as San Francisco goes. But in the meantime, we thought maybe once a week the Stag might have someone sing at supper time to entertain our guests.”

Ros’ smile turned a little more hopeful. “Well, I could possibly…” Both men offered their arms and she grinned, flanked by both as they started walking. “That is certainly an interesting idea you have, gentlemen.” 

The three of them were soon in close discussion and Jon remembered Sansa saying she might have a notion of work for Ros and a place her and her daughter could live even. The happiest memories of his childhood had been spent in the Reeds’ boarding house. With a loving mother, kind proprietors and a multitude of people to observe and learn things from and about, there were far worse ways for the little girl to grow up. 

However, as more folks joined their party, Jon was thinking maybe he’d rather just head on home, especially if there was any chance he could talk Sansa into lying down with him a bit before Mya was on his ass to come out to the corral. Their wedding reception had stretched on for hours. It had been the happiest day of his life but he didn’t think he was up to all this socializing today.

“If it’s lemonade you want, you could just have some at home, darling. I bought that syrup for you,” Jon murmured, hopefully. 

She laughed and shook her head. “Just one drink with our friends, Mr. Snow.”

Looking at the happy faces of his friends and family, he knew she was right. Ducking out on them wouldn’t be courteous and he really did appreciate everyone coming out to show their support today. It meant the world to him. One drink and they’d go home. He could wait that long.

“You think it’d be safe enough for you to ride home on Licorice with me?” he asked Sansa as they crossed the street.

“Oh, I think it’s no more risky than any travel at this stage so long as you promise to go slow. But this is one of my best dresses.” 

“I’ll keep him at a walk for you and I kept your wedding dress clean enough, didn’t I?” 

She lowered her voice. “You did and I dearly want to be held in your arms.” He grinned and she licked her lips. “Actually, I don’t think anyone would take it amiss if we had our one drink rather quickly and headed on ahead of the rest, do you?”

He started rapidly nodding, already thinking he could toss back a dram quicker than you could say knife and have Licorice saddled and ready by the time she polished off her lemonade, when they were interrupted by shouts nearby…and gunfire.

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**

For lack of a better term, he jumped like he was shot and, when he spun around, there was already a body in the street. Several women screamed and Jon felt Sansa clutching at his arm. 

A cowboy’s life could be quiet in its way and lonely at times. But mostly it was an active life, filled with long hours, scant comfort and hard work. What it lacked in variety in some ways, it made up for in the constant moving about and the random emergency here or there. Whether disaster threatened from an unexpected bout of severe weather or some fool member of the herd decided it was time for a stampede, one had to be constantly at the ready to respond. 

And occasionally, a cowboy might encounter his share of brutal bloody violence.

Like a soldier drilled to react, Jon’s senses started gearing up at that faster pace he’d known on those occasions in the past. His eyes quickly assessed the situation and he made the best decisions he could given the time, place and the knowledge he had to work with. 

Mr. Bolton’s men were at odds with Thorne and Slynt’s men who were at odds with everyone. And the dead man was the sheriff who had left the town hall in time to apparently make some cockamamy attempt at playing peacemaker. _Or he just stumbled out amongst them and caught a bullet for it._

Jon had one clear priority. 

“Get her indoors!” he yelled at Wex as he gave Sansa a gentle but firm nudge the boy’s way. 

She called his name once in her fear and anxiety but, when his head whipped back their way again, she was already bolting for the Log with Wex at her side. 

“Gimme those!” Pride was certainly something he understood but those were his guns and Pod was still half a boy in his eyes. Whatever argument Pod might’ve been preparing died a quick death when Jon added, “Get Beth outta here!”

The women and more peaceable men were still running for cover and some of those devils of Thorne’s were taking shots at them as they ran.

More people came rushing from the courthouse, including his accusers with the Judge and his bailiffs on their heels. 

“Get back here, you scallywags! I ain’t done with you!” Qhorin shouted. 

They weren’t listening. Slynt was cowering like a mouse as he scurried to his friends but Alliser walked tall the dozen paces it took to join his posse of ruffians. 

He heard Thorne’s raspy snarl clear as day just as he saw one of them taking a bead on the Tarly family dashing for the mercantile. “Kill that squaw whore.”

Didn’t matter if he meant Gilly or her mother, that fucker wouldn’t hurt his friends. Cold fury and fiery rage were meshed as one when Jon raised his Colt, closed one eye and took the would-be shooter’s life with a single shot before he dove for shelter at the smith’s shed with four others. 

He saw the Tarlys reach the store and disappear within. Pod had Beth out of sight and Wex had reached the Log with Sansa. Rodrik was with Mya and Mychel. They were all armed but Micah was with them, the child crying helplessly at all the noise and confusion. The wagon the four of them had taken refuge behind wasn’t much cover. He saw another one of Thorne’s men’s eyes narrowing as he noticed them. But, Jon raised his gun and that man wouldn’t be noticing anything ever again.

“What in the fargin’ hell is all this?!” Judge Qhorin yelled in his ear as he joined him in the smith’s shed. 

“I’m afraid they may have taken exception to your decision, Your Honor,” Jon said, dryly.

“You think?” the older man chuckled. “Well, piss on them. Gimme that gun, boy!” he told Cletus Yronwood. 

His adrenaline pumping, Jon breathed in and out to control the shakes that would always threaten after a fight. He peeked around the shed again, wanting to lay eyes on Thorne…and take him out. He was chased back by gunfire instead. 

“Lay down your arms!” Edd shouted at the lot of them. “This here’s murder and I’ll hang every last one of you whether you’ve fired a gun or not unless you lay down your arms this instant!” 

Edd, not being an idiot, was already sheltering at the side of the town hall with Tormund at his back. The other deputies were scattered, in no good spot for fighting. And clearly, this was about to be a real fight.

“Like hell, we will!” Thorne shouted back at Edd. “We come here for justice and we were denied it again!”

“You didn’t want justice,” a cold voice said from the doorway of the townhall. “You just wanted blood. I mean to see you get it.” 

Jon hadn’t expected Roose Bolton to speak those words but he supposed he might be feeling powerful resentful over the money he’d wasted bringing these men out here with his scheme for getting the Rose for a song thwarted. _And maybe the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree in the long run either,_ he decided, thinking of Ramsay’s impulsiveness. 

Roose and his men opened fire at that point and soon everybody with a gun was shooting. 

Most gunfights between opposing parties rather than individuals, soon dissolved into bloody chaos in Jon’s experience. This was no different. 

“It’s a damn turkey shoot,” the judge was saying under his breath as his pistol clicked impotently, all six rounds already gone. “Reload this gun, boy!” he told Cletus next. 

_A turkey shoot indeed._ Jon couldn’t argue with it nor could he say he felt a bit sorrowful over dropping Thorne with two shots to the head. 

Maybe five minutes had passed from the first shot until the last. When all was said and done, there were nearly twenty bodies on the ground; Thorne and nearly all his men, Roose and five of his hands along with Karstark and one of his no-good deputies. 

_Undertaker’s gonna be busy,_ Jon mused but didn’t say it. His darling didn’t like that kind of humor. 

He spied a survivor among them though, Janos Slynt cowering amongst the dead, begging for his sorry life. Maybe the hangman would be a little busy, too. 

_Or not,_ he thought a moment later when Judge Qhorin stepped over and shot Slynt right between the eyes.

“Judge!” Edd yelped.

“He’d just be a waste of good rope…_Sheriff_ Tollett.” He tipped his hat and made his way over to the Log, saying he was more than ready for a free drink.

“He-he-he just called me sheriff by mistake,” Edd stammered.

Jon laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “No, I don’t think it was a mistake. Relax, Edd. You might hate it some days but Silverhill will be better off. And I don’t know about you but I don’t reckon I’d argue with that man’s decisions any.” 

* * *

_“I was so afraid for you,”_ she’d said, holding him tight when he’d come to find her at the Log.

_“I know but it’s done now. None of those men can trouble us again and we’re going home.”_

This morning he’d ate breakfast sitting in a jail cell with Edd for company. Tonight, he could sit down to supper at his dining table surrounded by loved ones.

And now, he was riding home on his horse with his beloved wife between his arms, nestled up sidesaddle in front of him. After the baby came, he’d have to convince her to ride this way again with that split-legged riding skirt of hers. 

But when he spied the field of wildflowers and the brook babbling in the distance, he decided he could wait a little longer to see the house. 

“Here?”

“Yeah, here. Ain’t no one around.” He was already laying out the bedroll that was attached at the back of his saddle. 

“This is hardly proper, Mr. Snow.”

“Well, I know you’d prefer the hayloft.”

She started giggling and batted at his arm. “Do you know how much I’ve missed your wickedness, husband?”

“Much as I’ve missed your sweetness, I hope.” He took her hand, tugging her close and sinking his hands into her waves of auburn hair that he’d already freed from her hat and bun during their ride while whispering wicked things in her ear. 

“Everyone’s gonna know what we’ve been up to,” she fretted, chewing at her bottom lip.

“That we made love on our way home in this picturesque field of flowers? Don’t bother me none if they do,” he shrugged.

“Of course, it wouldn’t bother you,” she smirked. 

“Does it bother you?” he asked before kissing her lightly, once…twice…and twice more.

Her eyes were more like sapphires than summer skies when he pulled back again. “No,” she said, panting for breath same as him. Clothes were quickly shed willy-nilly at that point. 

“All of it,” he told her when she stood in nothing but her bloomers and chemise. "Take off every stitch. I want to see all of you."

“Jon…" She was awful pretty when she blushed. "Someone could ride up.”

“That’s why I’ve set Ghost to watch for us.”

The faithful dog had met them just as they’d reached the property line as if he’d known they were coming. And maybe he did. Sansa said she’d told Ghost he’d be coming home today. If she’d ever harbored any doubts over the outcome of the trial, she’d kept them to herself, staying strong for them both even when his faith was sagging.

Licorice was hobbled by a tree and Ghost was sitting like a sheep dog, facing the other way. They were as alone as they were going to get out here. 

Sansa had other concerns, too. "My body is different than you may recall," she said bashfully. "My belly's already starting to swell some. I can't recall Mya showing so early but I..."

"_You_ are growing new life inside you, our precious baby. Do you fear I won't want you because of it? Believe me, I want you as much as ever, my beautiful darling girl." 

He reached for her chemise and she grinned, letting him pull it over her head. _Lordy me_. There might've been a bit more of a swell to her belly than before but that wasn't what he first noticed as being larger. He licked his lips, admonishing himself to behave while dying to cup one of her full firm breasts and lower his mouth to it. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said after her bloomers had dropped to the ground. 

“Me, too. Me, too,” she whimpered when he lifted her into his arms. He laid her carefully down on the bedroll before covering her body with his own. 

“God Almighty, Sansa,” he sighed, cupping a breast. “I’m so glad to be home.” 

“This isn’t exactly ho-_ome!”_ The word ‘home’ came out as a gasp when his mouth closed over a nipple. She squirmed beneath him delightedly until… “Those are your teeth, Jon Snow!”

“My apologies.” Except he wasn’t all that sorry.

“You’re not a bit…_ohhh.”_ She canted her hips and her words became moans as he filled her. 

“I _am_ home,” he rumbled softly before lathing the nipple he’d just nipped and making her squirm some more. 

She was sucking on his earlobe, one set of fingers spearing through his hair as the other hand squeezed his backside. Her hips were rocking in time with his thrusts on the bedroll...the mighty convenient bedroll. She might deny it until the day she died but Jon suspected his wife had hoped for a bit of wickedness on his part. Maybe she had a touch of wickedness in her, too. 

“Goddamn, my girl. Like that,” he groaned. 

The wet slaps of flesh meeting flesh, the sinfully delicious sight of Sansa bare beneath him in the field of flowers and the feel of her tight heat surrounding him, he was going to spend far soon than he’d like. 

“Yes, Jon…yes,” she cried, spurring him on. 

He grasped her thigh, hitching her leg a little higher around his waist as he grew more eager for his finish, all the tension of the last three weeks and maybe the last five years even seeping out of his body with every thrust and caress. 

Sansa sang out his name, her fingernails scraping the base of his head lightly and he was lost in his bliss, her name coming out as an ineloquent grunt. He knew she didn’t care. 

He couldn’t really think of a better homecoming than this either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two to go :)


	29. Sansa

With Jon’s release, life on the Golden Rose returned to normal once more even if June and July were as busy as May. And why wouldn’t that be so? The man of the ranch was back. _A man in his prime for the ranch and for me as well._

He was her partner in every sense of the word and they had both learned the value of sharing their burdens with one another in a way she never could’ve with her first husband. She was so grateful to have him back and know that her beloved was finally safe from those hateful men and their lies forever.

Sansa would rather not dwell on the bloody violence in the main street of Silverhill after Jon's day in court. She was sorry that it had come to that when she’d have been just as happy for Jon to walk out the doors of the town hall a free man and for Mr. Thorne and Slynt to crawl back to Kansas from whence they came never to be seen again. But she supposed those who seek to stir trouble wind up finding it in the end and her mama would’ve said it was a classic example of the biter bit. Wex summed it up best she thought with his scrawl of GOOD RIDDANCE when they’d been told what had occurred outside the Smoking Log that day.

As for Roose Bolton’s ranch, with no clear beneficiary, it would be going up for auction. Some folks had asked if her and Jon were considering purchasing it. Their lands touched at the Northeast corner. If they bought it, they’d have one of the largest horse ranches in Colorado. But her and Jon had talked it over and agreed between them that the Rose was plenty enough work for their family and all they could really want. Some other family might buy it. She prayed whoever bought it would be good neighbors to have.

The delicate wildflowers of spring had had their day and summer’s heartier verdure was in full bloom. But, while summer days on the edge of the Rockies grew quite warm, most nights were still chilly enough to be glad of a fire in one’s hearth or an extra quilt upon the bed…or a warm body to snuggle up close.

She was always so tired by nightfall. Her back ached something fierce often enough after long days on her feet but her sweet husband would offer to rub it despite his own long days of work.

“_Unnnn_…that feels so good,” she said, an unseemly moan escaping when he had her propped up by their pillows as his strong hands worked their way downward. 

“I’m glad.”

"I appreciate you doing this when I know you must be tired. I'm sorry to..."

"Nonsense. It's my pleasure to help you feel better. The view ain't to be missed either." He gave her backside a squeeze through her nightgown to emphasize his meaning. 

She snorted softly at his wickedness and started thinking her own wicked thoughts. “I could return the favor if you like.”

“Well, my back don't hurt none but I did land pretty hard on my tail today when I was trying to break that new horse.”

“Oh, goodness! I’m sorry to hear it.” And she was…but a deviltry took hold of her as she grinned and rolled over so their eyes met. “I can’t say I’d mind rubbing out that soreness for you one bit...and maybe rub some other places for you.”

"Holy hell. You do tempt me something wonderous, wife.”

Outside of the creaking of their bed and soft gasps and moans that filled their bedroom, the ranch grew quiet at night but never silent. If one listened closely, they would hear colts and fillies snuffling in their stalls at their mothers’ teats or Bessie chewing her cud while the hogs Pod had brought them snored and grunted in their sleep. Ghost’s ears would perk up on and off whenever he heard the scurrying of nocturnal critters outside the parlor door where he slept on the nights he was dismissed from their bedroom. He was a rather curious dog and a loving couple needed privacy at times.

Speaking of which, with Jon home again, work had begun on a new house for the ranch, a smaller, more modest one for the other married couple living there. On the other side of the barn, the skeleton of its frame was already standing proud. Mya had said she wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping it half so neat as Sansa and Beth kept the main house but Sansa knew she was thrilled all the same. They'd be moved in come fall. With Micah getting bigger and another little one on the way, his mother and father would appreciate having a place of their own, not to mention their own bedroom, for their little family within the Rose’s Ranch Family.

No matter how well she slept, the crowing of the rooster come morning might find Sansa begging for a few more minutes of peaceful slumber, that is if Jon wasn’t busy making her beg in less ladylike ways. But unlike the howling winds of winter, the melodious chirping of summer songbirds would bring a smile to her face soon enough. She would rise and wash and then be throwing on her dress and apron, arranging her hair and heading to the kitchen to fix biscuits and coffee for everyone. Her husband would often sneak up on her as she kneaded her dough as was his wont after he’d seen to his early morning tasks to steal a bite of ham and a kiss, always finding much amusement if there was a stray bit of flour on her cheek.

Vanity had had to give way to practicality lately though and Sansa wasn’t so pleased by that. None of her fancier, town-going dresses would fit comfortably anymore and Dr. Luwin had told her to stop wearing stays altogether. She still had around five months to go and it appeared she was doomed to spend those months in her most basic homespun dresses, ones that were made to accommodate a woman’s fluctuating figure in her childbearing years.

_“Just add a bit of your lace to ‘em. They’ll look pretty enough then. You’re beautiful to me no matter what you wear,”_ Jon had said.

She’d done as he’d suggested, though she’d thought it a little silly at first. Turned out, the calicos and even her dull brown wash day dress were improved remarkably by a touch of Jon's gifted lace. On Sundays, she would put on her blue calico with some lace at the neck and cuffs along with her prettiest bonnet for church and let her husband escort her by the arm while telling herself it was too dusty in town during summer to dress too finely anyhow. 

Still, as July drew to a close, she had developed an abhorrence for her mirror and even the large windows of storefronts in town. 

“How big am I gonna get?” she asked Mya worriedly one evening after supper when the others were occupied.

“I don’t know,” Mya shrugged. “You saw I was big as a house towards the end.”

“But that was just towards the end. And you kept working and working so late into your pregnancy. I’m so tired already. I’m tired just thinking about being tired. How am I…”

“Sansa,” her friend said, taking her hand, “the doc says you’re doing alright and other than being tired and swoll up earlier than you expected, you feel alright, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. And I don’t mean to whine. I’m so happy,” she said, resting her hand on her swelling belly. The frequent kicks were impossible to ignore now. Jon had felt one for the first time the other night and been moved to shed some happy tears over it. “It’s just not what I expected.”

Mya brushed her hair back with an affectionate smile and kissed her cheek. “Not much in life is what we expect it to be. I’ll say it’s no picnic but, God willing, it’ll be alright.”

* * *

  
“Mya!” She was doubled over from the pains again with tears streaking her cheeks.

“Hang on! We’ll get you to the house!”

“It’s too soon, isn't it? It's too soon I thought,” she cried.

“It’s gonna be alright, it’s gonna be alright.” Mya sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Sansa.

Sansa had been outdoors, enjoying the first real blast of cold weather this fall after the miserable heat of summer. She'd felt like a sweaty, sticky mess all of August and most of September. October had turned off coolish though and she'd sighed with relief. 

She'd been fetching the wash off the line with Beth, when the backache she’d been nursing on and off earlier drove her to her knees unexpectedly. The pain was so severe, like nothing she’d anticipated. She'd immediately realized she'd been ignoring how regularly the pain had been building until then and now she was afraid. 

Beth had yelped and took off running for help at her cry as Micah had toddled over, his little brow furrowed when he asked, _“Naw-na hurt?”_

_“No, no, my sweet one,”_ she’d lied, not wishing to distress the child even as the hysteria had been rising. _“Look, angel. It’s starting to snow. October and our first flurries.”_

It was true. A few scattered snowflakes were falling on the blustery October day. 

_Let it be a good omen,_ she’d prayed.

But she’d been biting down on her knuckle to keep from crying out by the time Mya had reached her and Mychel had whisked the boy away with promises of lemon drops.

_“Dose are Naw-na’s,”_ Micah had pouted at his father, bright enough to suspect he was being cajoled even though he had developed a taste for them.

_“You can have them, my angel. You can eat them up for me,”_ Sansa had managed to grunt before Mya had whispered the boy and his father were out of sight.

_“Cry and scream all you like now.”_

She had no plans to scream though crying seemed likely.

Late October. It’d been a little over a year since Jon had come to the Golden Rose and changed everything for her. Her lonely world from a year ago was so full now and she knew the same was true for him. She’d been eagerly anticipating the birth of their child next month, wanting so much to hand Jon a son or daughter and see the pride and joy on his handsome face when she did, but she still had another month to go by her reckoning.

“It can be hard to be sure of the timing, Sansa. Little ones come when they’re ready to come my mama told me once,” Mya told her, rubbing her back when Sansa couldn’t take another step.

A flash of white filled Sansa’s vision and she felt his rough tongue on her cheek. “Ghost.” She sank her fingers into his fur, scratching his ears and smiling despite her fears for a moment.

She could hear the thundering of boots coming her way with Beth’s fretful chatter following them. She nearly swooned with relief.

“Oh, thank God!” Mya cried. “Jon, help me get her to the bed. One of y’all go fetch the doc and someone go get Mrs. Tarly and her mama!”

She heard Rodrik shouting orders at the boys but couldn't focus on that. She felt Jon's arms circling her, taking Mya’s place. He was dirty and dusty from work. He’d shed his coat at some point. It was probably thrown over Licorice's back and forgotten. The handkerchief around his throat was stained with sweat despite the cold day. 

He yanked off his leather gloves and stroked her cheek, murmuring words of comfort in her ear, telling her he was here and everything would be alright.

“Jon…Jon, I’m scared.”

“I know."

Her eyes welled up as she confessed her childish wish in his ear. "I want my mother."

His dark eyes were pained as he kissed her brow. "I know, my love. I wish I could fetch her for you."

She gulped and told him of more pressing things. “I think my water’s broke. What if it’s too soon or…”

He nodded, concern etching his face though he said nothing. He just lifted her into his arms to carry her into their home.

An hour later, Chapawee and Gilly were in the bedroom with her and Mya, Jon having just left to fetch fresh water. Much as she wanted him close, he’d been fighting a losing battle with his own nervousness and it was making her more anxious.

_“Perhaps you could refill this basin for us, Mr. Snow,”_ Gilly had said politely.

_“But I…”_

_“You make your woman nervous. Nervous won’t help her deliver your child. Now, get out,”_ Chapawee had said more bluntly. _“You come back when you’ve filled four pails of water and you can stop your pacing.”_

Chapawee held out a leather strap and said she was going to have a look at things. “Bite down. This might hurt some.” Sansa sucked in a deep breath and did as she was told. The Sioux woman turned to her daughter once she was done looking, rattling off a slew of information in that language. Gilly’s eyes grew wider and wider.

“What?! What is it?!” Mya cried, echoing Sansa's thoughts.

Chapawee patted Sansa's shoulder and gave her a motherly smile. “Don’t worry so much. There will be pain but it will pass. You are a strong woman and you have me here."

"I'm glad of it, ma'am."

"Twenty-two healthy babies I have seen born besides my own, all to mothers who survived their ordeal. I don't think these ones will give any real trouble. Babies come every day and the first one is ready to come now.”

Her confidence was reassuring. “Oh, that’s…did you mean to say 'these ones?'”

“Yes. First one now. Second one a little after.”

“Second one?!”

"Twins. Oh my Lord," Mya giggled. "Wait till Jon hears."

Sansa was still trying to make heads or tails of that news herself when the bedroom door opened. Jon was there with a pail of water in hand still looking half spooked but determined to join them again. Ghost was with him. The dog immediately stepped right in and found himself a spot in the corner. 

“Doc’s here…if he’s needed.”

“He can come,” Chapawee told him. “I might need an assistant.” Jon nodded, his eyes darting between the three women. Chapawee laughed and shook her head at him. “You can stay too if you keep quiet and out of the way.”

“Uh…yes, ma’am. I can do that.”

* * *

It had been the longest night but she had made it through. Some details, particularly the less pleasant ones, were already slipping away. She would let them go happily. Hoarding hurts and fears was not something Sansa had ever enjoyed. But some memories would stay with her, she knew. As a little old woman with grey hair and spectacles, Sansa knew she'd still recall parts of this night, the happiest ones. 

A new day had dawned a short while ago, a crisp morning in late October with a dusting of snow in place of the more usual frost. Bessie would need milking, the hogs and chickens would need feeding and the horses would be stirring soon. None of those things would be her responsibility today.

Sansa wondered what she might’ve been doing this time last year. _Becoming quite smitten with my handsome new ranch hand for one thing._

Today, she was nursing her newborn son at her breast as that handsome ranch hand held the baby’s sister who was older by a whole twenty minutes. 

Despite them arriving a little earlier than expected and being smaller than normal, which Dr. Luwin said was usual with twins, they appeared quite hearty much to the new parents’ relief. The doc had said he’d wondered if it were possible given some of the signs but had been uncertain. Chapawee had not been uncertain at all though and she’d been amazingly comforting throughout the ordeal. If Sansa's wish for her mother yesterday had been impossible, she would consider her friendship with Chapawee a blessing not to be taken for granted. 

_"__You rest and take care of babies. That is all you do for one week,"_ Chapawee had said sternly before going to lay down next to Gilly at last in Willas' old bedroom. 

_"I'd do as she says,"_ Doc Luwin had chuckled before closing up his kit. _"I'll be by tomorrow and the next day to check on the three of you. May I share the glad tidings in town?"_

Jon had looked her way, waiting for her nod before answering. _"You may and thank you, Doc."_

He'd then bid them a good day, heading towards his bed for a few hours if some other urgent matter didn't call him away first.

At last, the new parents found themselves alone with their babies. Well, Ghost was there but exceptions were made for Ghost. 

Sansa was propped up by half a dozen pillows, watching their son nurse now that the pair of them were learning the way of it. Jon held their daughter, perched on the edge of the bed beside her. 

"Take your boots off, Jon. Get comfortable up here with me." He'd washed his hands and face yesterday. Beyond that, he'd not done a single thing for himself from what she could tell. She doubted he'd eaten a bite since his noonday meal yesterday. 

"I'm alright." He sounded weary and a touch contrary. He was probably thinking he'd have to lay their daughter down in order to accomplish that and didn't want to for even so much as a minute. She couldn't much blame him. 

She smiled and stroked his whiskers with a free hand for a moment and received a loving smile in return. “I can’t believe my mother did this five times,” she sighed, her own weariness creeping up on her

“Yes, but never two at once, darling.” 

“This is true.” 

“I can’t believe the size of her little fingers,” Jon said in a voice of quiet awe. Whatever nerves he’d experienced during her labors, he’d hid them well once things had started to progress and remained steadfastly by her side. He watched in fascination as he placed one of his fingers by the baby’s hand and she immediately grasped it. His beatific smile was one of the sweetest things Sansa had ever seen. “They’re so tiny but perfect,” he whispered.

“And she already has you thoroughly wrapped around them, I believe, Mr. Snow.”

He chuckled and glanced her way. “Without a doubt. Just like her mama and brother.” Her eyes grew watery as she stroked the downy hair on top of her son’s head and stared back at him. “Are you alright? Is the pain bad?” he asked, worriedly.

“Not so bad.” Not near so bad as her labors had been. “These are merely some more happy tears.”

He carefully leaned towards her, the babies’ heads touching as he pressed a kiss to her lips. “I love you, Sansa.”

“And I love you. What shall we name him?”

They had discussed it some naturally but hadn’t made a decision in case it was a boy. They’d long ago agreed that if they had a daughter, she would be named Arya for the sister Sansa had lost. 

“Whatever you like, darling.” She started to open her mouth when he added, “Except Jon.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. It would just feel funny to me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Just never thought of myself as someone worth being named after.”

She did not like that way of thinking. “Well, that makes me want to name him that even more now because you certainly are.” He gave her a bashful smile. “But I suppose I could respect your wishes for a first name. His middle name can be Jon.”

“Fair enough, darling.” He looked down at little Arya. “See? She’s had me wrapped around her fingers the longest and I've learnt not to argue all that much.” 

She laughed softly and asked what name he might choose for their boy. “Tormund?” she suggested, half serious at least. He was very dear to them both. 

“Nah, he had a boy once who was named after him. I wouldn’t want to hurt him with memories or…” 

Jon stopped speaking and Sansa recalled the sad part of Tormund’s past that Brienne had shared with her during Jon’s captivity. He had a daughter all grown up and living elsewhere but he’d had a wife and son years ago, a son who would’ve been close in age to Jon. _Maybe someday he’ll have another son to name_. 

“Another name then,” she agreed, prompting Jon to make a suggestion. 

“Well, I was thinking…what about Eddard?”

“Eddard,” she repeated. "You’ll make me cry again.”

“Don’t cry. I figured we’d let the sheriff cry over it instead.”

“Edd?”

“Yeah, he’d be Eddard like your daddy but…”

“Oh, Jon! We could name him Eddard but call him Edd, couldn’t we?”

“That was my thinking if you don’t mind, darling.”

Edd Tollett had officially been elected as sheriff just last month after he’d taken on the responsibilities as acting sheriff back in May with the death of Arnolf Karstark. He’d married Alyce after services the following Sunday, saying that he figured he might be able to take proper care of a wife at last. Jon had stood up beside him for the service. Since their meeting at Brienne's back in December, they'd gone from acquaintances to friends to something more like brothers...one being a rather dour older brother. 

“No, I don’t mind at all,” she said with a beaming smile. 

“What do you say then, little one? Is Eddard Jon Snow alright with you?” 

The baby made a nondescript gurgling sound which the parents chose to take as an agreement. 

Ghost’s ears perked up just as the baby finished nursing, drifting off to sleep in his mother’s arms. Her own eyes were heavy when there was a gentle knock. “Jon? Sansa? Y’all hungry?” Beth called sweetly through the door.

“Some of us ain't seen them babies yet!” Pod added. There was a chorus of shushes at that. "Well, it's true."

They both snickered and Jon went to open the door. 

The menfolk were hanging back but there was Mya and Beth eager to come in. Her fatigue was suddenly allayed, for a few minutes anyway, in her excitement to introduce their children to the rest of the family. Once she was properly covered and a cooing Beth had taken little Eddard from her arms, Sansa beckoned them all to come in. 

She was amused by Jon’s sharp though quiet hectoring of them all not to tire her out or be troubling her over any nonsense this morning. “For a week…nah, a month at least.” Somehow that felt familiar. The others seemed to think so as well and all nodded in agreement with the new father. 

Rodrik grinned and lightly tickled Arya under the chin. She passed gas which made the menfolk laugh. What else would she expect? Mya laughed, too. 

“No, no, son. Sansa needs to rest,” Mychel said when Micah hurried over to her bed, doing his best to scale it like a mountain.

“No, it’s alright. Jon?”

Jon gave the boy a leg up and she was happy to have her first sweet one nestled up beside her. She kissed the top of his head and asked him how he did while the others all admired the babies with Jon standing in the middle of them looking proud as any king. 

Micah babbled to her about Ghost and the lemon drop candies and the horses. She held his little hand and listened, remembering all the times she’d held this precious child in the night fearing he might be the closest she ever got to motherhood. She caught Jon watching her and gave him a reassuring smile. _ I am fine. These are only the start of more happy tears, you see._

Wex was the first to have his fill of babies and gestured that he’d take Ghost outdoors with him. Jon mussed his hair and told him he’d come find them later. The other menfolk soon followed the boy out. 

Beth went to fetch a tray and returned with fresh milk, a pot of coffee and a very welcome plate filled with biscuits and jam for them both. Chapawee and Gilly peeked in before they’d be heading towards their home, back to Sam and Little Sam. After their meal, Jon went off to use the necessary and Sansa asked Mya help her see to her own needs when Beth took little Micah off to have his breakfast. 

When Jon returned, her head was bobbing and he told her it was past time for her to rest. She made no argument as he climbed into the bed, the little ones sleeping for the moment. Her eyes drifted closed and she dreamed sweet things. It wasn’t long before she was being woken by the sound of a hungry little mouth, two actually.

The next few days would pass in a blur for Sansa but a happy one overall. Jon was by her side more often than not and she was surrounded by loving friends who were her family. 

Congratulations came from their friends in town, Loras and Renly sending her a basket full of oranges and promises of dinner on the house as soon as she felt like venturing to the Stag. Brienne sent her love and Pod returned with tales from his visit to the Log two days after the birth of the babies. He said how Tormund had cried tears of joy when he’d heard all about the little ones and his Little Snow becoming a papa and that Edd Tollett had been moved to shed a tear or two as well when he’d been told the name of their son. 

Sansa would never feel sorry for spreading around more happy tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter will catch up with our little ranch family a couple of years down the line and center around a wedding. Thank you for reading!


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Rose Ranch hosts a wedding.

**Three years later…**

On a sunny day in late September, Jon Snow walked out of Poole’s mercantile with his parcels and a bolt of ivory lace carefully wrapped and tucked under his arm. 

He tipped his hat or exchanged a word or two with a dozen different folks as he made his way back to Licorice waiting at his post. Young or old, rich or poor, everyone he encountered gave him a friendly reply. Some of them were folks he might’ve been afraid of telling his name to once upon a time. And more than a few wouldn’t have paid him any heed at all, never caring what his name was in the first place. 

That was no longer the case. 

Jon Snow was a respected man in Silverhill these days, no longer just a lowly unemployed cowboy looking for a place so he could survive the next winter. 

And, even if nobody else said so, Jon knew none of that would be true if not for his beloved wife. 

There were still times he couldn’t quite believe his good fortune that day he’d noticed a dust-covered advertisement, curled at the edges and tacked outside the Smoking Log. _Experienced Ranch Hand Wanted. _ He could get all sentimental just thinking on it if allowed. He couldn’t allow too much of that today though. There were things to do. 

Passing The Stag, he waved to Loras who was standing out front. "Renly made it back from California yet?" 

The two of them had been back and forth the past year opening their new hotel but had ultimately decided they'd prefer to remain in Silverhill, saying it was home to them. Lucky for them, Loras' sister had shocked her parents and grandmother by refusing the hand of some swell back east and offering to go west to manage her brother and Renly's new establishment. Loras had said she'd be happier in California than she ever would've been married to that fool her family had wanted her to marry anyway even if he was some relation of Renly's. 

"The train arrived this morning. He's all abuzz talking about the new place, says folks are coming in droves to see Ros perform and that Margaery's got everything well in hand." 

He nodded, happy for them and happy for Ros and her mother and daughter, too. And maybe a touch relieved Ros had taken to San Francisco like a duck to water since it’d felt right awkward the times when his sweet wife had invited her over for supper and such. Regardless, it sounded as if her and Margaery were getting on well and Loras had said the pair of them were a good match for running the place.

"We'll see you tomorrow, won't we?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Loras assured him before heading back inside. 

Reaching the horses and rummaging through his carefully tied up parcels, Jon found the sack of sugar cubes he’d bought among the penny candies he’d picked up for the children. Edd and Arya, Micah and his little sister Maddy would all be eager for his return. He couldn’t help grinning just thinking of them and their excitement over sweets. 

Naturally, it wasn’t just children who liked treats. 

“As promised,” he told Licorice, patting his withers and offering the first cube. A whicker of displeasure followed that along with the stomping of hooves behind him. “Now, now. You think I’d forget you, ma’am?” 

Lady knocked her muzzle into him none-too-gently to show that yes, she had thought just that. 

“I know, I know. You’re right of course. I shoulda remembered it’s lady’s first, shouldn’t I? I’m used to spoiling him is all.” He offered Lady two sugar cubes for his mistake…and was promptly getting nudged by Licorice. “Come on now. Y’all are gonna eat up all the sugar cubes before we get home and Sansa’s gonna want some for her tea later.”

He was saved from further arguments with his horses by the sweet voice of his wife calling out, “Did they have the lace in at last, Mr. Snow?”

He turned to see Sansa headed his way from the millinery with Ghost at her heels. Even with tasks to see to today and standing here in the middle of town, devilish thoughts plagued Jon Snow whenever he saw his wife wearing that split-legged riding skirt of hers.

And, she was wearing one of his hats. 

Had she been wearing it when they’d rode here earlier? He didn’t think so. The last time he recalled his wife wearing that particular hat had been a couple of days ago. She’d been riding something alright but she hadn’t been riding no horse. _I’ll gladly neigh if she tells me to whenever she wants to ride this old cowboy though. _

“I did. Where’d that hat come from?” 

She glanced at the box in her hand. “It’s the bonnet I was picking up at the…”

“Nah, I don’t mean the bonnet.” He pointed at the one she was wearing and gave her a wink. 

Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk. She knew when she’d last worn that hat too, the little vixen. “From my saddle bag. I left it off earlier when the sun was behind the clouds.” 

He smirked back at her, knowing how she enjoyed teasing him this way. And did he mind that? No, he did not. _Too bad there ain’t no hayloft handy for us._

He’d have to watch himself here in town. Sansa had rules about what was acceptable when they were in front of others. All the same, his arms were far too empty at the moment. He placed his hands at Sansa’s waist. A chaste kiss here on the street was considered alright so long as they didn’t make a spectacle of themselves Sansa had said. Granted, he wanted to give her more than a chaste kiss. 

“I’m glad he had the lace,” she said just as he was leaning in. “You think Beth will like it?”

“I’m certain she will, darling. Reckon we’re all set to celebrate a wedding tomorrow. Now, c’mere.” 

None of the townsfolk would faint dead away if Jon kissed his wife here in town standing between their two horses. They all knew he was head over heels for her.

As the kissing went on though, Licorice seemed to recall he’d only got one sugar cube instead of the two Lady had received. Ghost started whimpering at them, too. That dog was as bad as an old maid with his chaperoning sometimes even if he’d been their lookout in more than one field over the years. 

“Alright, alright!” he exclaimed, stooping to pick up his hat after the darn fool of a horse had knocked it off his head. “You ready to head home, darling?” He was more than ready to give her a leg up into her saddle, letting his hand steady her while it was placed on her rounded backside. _And maybe we’ll find a convenient field of flowers on our way while we're at it. _

“No, I want to stop in at the Log and visit. I've got something for Brienne and Alyce, too.”

Always glad to see their friends in town, he didn’t argue. They left the smaller parcels with the horses but headed to the Log with the bolt of lace under his arm and the hat box carried by Sansa. Ghost followed in their wake, taking his spot on the porch when they reached the saloon.

The expected greeting of “My Little Snow!” rang out as soon as they entered the place. Tormund was behind the bar and immediately pulled out his lucky flask. “I’ve got something special brewed for you to try today.”

“Nah, that’s alright, Tormund. I need to keep my head on straight today.” Lord only knew what the man had concocted now. The co-proprietor of the Smoking Log, and part-time deputy, was always brewing something new to drink. It usually packed an almighty punch, too.

“It ain’t nothing to curl your hair, Jon…which is already curly enough.” Tormund laughed aloud at his sorry jest before continuing, “It’s just a little twist on a sarsaparilla is all. Would you care to try some, Sansa?”

“Oh, I suppose…”

“I wouldn’t do it,” Brienne warned them returning from the store room, her arms laden with fresh bottles of whiskey. 

“I was gonna fetch those for you!”

“And I can still carry four bottles of drink. Anyhow, that concoction of his tastes like an old shoe.” 

“Does not!”

“Does, too,” she grinned at Tormund before straightening his collar. “Now, go and see to the gentlemen playing cards over there for me. Alyce says they’re getting a little quarrelsome and we don’t allow no fighting in the Log.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She could’ve just as easily told him to take a walk through the desert with no water and no boots on and he’d do it, Jon knew. 

Brienne was moving on closer to her time and it was her first baby. The expectant father was a bundle of nerves over it but both the town’s only true physician and it’s best midwife had told him not to take on so and vex his wife. 

Speaking of the good doctor and Chapawee, Jon spied the pair of them strolling down the street through the window. The widow's shawl was trailing off one shoulder and the old gentleman stooped to put it back to rights again. Some folks thought it amusing the way Dr. Luwin, a bachelor for so many years, seemed so smitten with the Sioux woman but Jon figured people didn't stop falling in love simply because they'd passed a certain number of birthdays.

“Do you have some cutting shears I may use, Brienne?” Sansa asked, breaking in on Jon’s thoughts as the older couple passed from his sight. “I wanted to give a bit of this lace to Alyce for her baby and to you for yours if you like.” Alyce and Edd had welcomed their first child, a daughter, back in April. 

“Oh, Sansa, that’s mighty kind of you. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with it. I’m no hand at a needle like you.”

“But I am,” Tormund said proudly as he rejoined them. “I could sew a button back on neater than any on the drive, couldn’t I, Jon?”

“That you could and for once he’s not telling a tall tale, ladies.”

“Telling tall tales? Me?! Why, I never,” the big man huffed. 

“Thank you, Sansa. It’s much appreciated,” Brienne cut in. “What are you doing with the rest of it?”

“It's a gift for Beth. Some for her veil since it thankfully arrived in time and the rest for her to use as she sees fit. Perhaps she'll make herself some napkins or something,” she said with a smile that was just for him. His heart swelled with affection thinking on those lace napkins and the one he'd returned to her that first night at the Rose. 

As Sansa was finishing off her lemonade (and while Jon was thinking some more about a field of wildflowers with the blue sky overhead while Sansa wore his hat), Edd came in. The sheriff shyly tipped his hat to his wife and Jon didn’t miss the way his eyes softened when Alyce gave him a little wave in return before he came their way to say hello.

“How long you been married now?”

“You know perfectly well it’s been three years, Jon.”

“And you still won’t kiss your wife here in the Log, huh?”

Edd took off his hat as his cheeks grew pinkish. “Not when she’s working. She don’t need me kissing on her in front of all these fellers. Might give ‘em ideas.”

“Might give the idea that she’s your gal so they won’t be bothering her none.”

“No one bothers my Alyce,” Edd said, grim as a reaper. It was too true. No one messed with Sheriff Tollett…except Jon and Tormund who took a devilish delight in teasing him now and then. “Y’all set for tomorrow?”

“We are,” Sansa answered. “The reverend’s coming out to officiate and we’re looking forward to everyone being there.” 

Tomorrow, the Golden Rose would be hosting a wedding. Sansa, with the help of Gilly Tarly, would be making all manner of fancy fixings along with an enormous cake. Jon could hardly wait.

* * *

“And do you, Beth, take Podrick to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in…”

Sansa wiped at her eyes, unable to stop the tears no more than she could stop from smiling as the pair faced each other with clasped hands and repeated their vows. 

They had waited for this day a long while but Pod had just turned nineteen and, having saved and planned, he’d been able to buy a good bit of land for a farm. Knowing how her daddy wanted to see Beth settled someplace of her own, Pod had waited to ask for her hand until he was able to give his bride that. The barn was raised but the house was still being built. They’d be well settled in it before winter. They’d be nearby at least since the land they’d purchased had once belonged to Roose Bolton. 

That man’s ranch had been purchased a few years back by Davos and Marya Seaworth who had come west with their seven sons for a fresh start far from Boston. They were mighty fine neighbors and her and Jon couldn’t be more pleased but they’d said they didn’t need such a large ranch for their family to run and had sold off a few dozen acres to homesteaders including what had been bought by Pod. 

Meanwhile, both Beth and Pod wanted Rodrik to join them at their place start slowing down some as he'd be turning seventy soon. Ranching was hard work and Beth and Pod weren’t the only ones hoping Rodrik would be content sitting in his rocking chair and whittling by the fire more often than he was mending fences and trying to calm ornery horses. _And some grandchildren to bounce on his knee someday might please the dear old man, too. _

It would be so strange though not seeing them at her table and not having her dear Beth by her side so much of the day. She could grow quite weepy over it. 

_“I’m still here, ain’t I?!” _Mya had chided her the other night. 

_“Yes, of course, you are,”_ she’d agreed, clasping Mya to her tightly. 

That was indeed a comfort and Sansa enjoyed Brienne, Alyce, Chapawee and Gilly’s company regularly as well. And it was not as if Beth was moving far away. It was only a bit of a ride to their land. She had no room for sorrowful tears at all. 

Wex and the two new hands they’d hired on ate up at the house every day for breakfast and every night for supper. Pyp and Grenn were nice young men and hard workers though rather shy from what she’d seen. According to Jon, Pyp was quite witty and Grenn had his moments as well but she'd never know it from the way they both sat mute as mice in church when they weren't shoveling down their meals at her table. She supposed as the lady of the ranch their shyness was to be expected. It was alright. She would put them at ease and win them over. Jon had been quiet his first night at her table as well. In time, she hoped Grenn and Pyp would feel every bit as much like family as the others. 

Mya, Mychel and their children still took their meals at the main house two nights a week. Sansa was glad of it but, sure as the seasons, changes were always coming. 

It was strange, the way life could shift like the sky above, sometimes full of clouds and worrisome, sometimes bright and clear filling a person with hope. Happy as she was, Sansa felt an ache some nights when the more familiar faces were missing. 

Of course, children are a wonderful distraction from one’s more morose moments. 

“Look at dem horses, Mama.”

“Yes, I know, child. Now, shush,” Sansa whispered as she fought to contain a wiggly Arya in her arms. 

Her daughter had been so excited over the wedding initially. Much as she liked to follow her daddy around and say she was going to be like Annie Oakley someday, Arya had clapped and exclaimed over the pretty little bonnet Sansa had purchased in town yesterday for her to wear today. She was a dear girl but quick to get into mischief if allowed, quite the opposite of her quieter brother who was always eager to please his elders…and fond of tattling on his sister. 

They’d both been following the wedding fairly well for children just shy of three, Arya listening intently to her mother’s description of the bride’s lacy veil and pretty dress until the horses had become interested in this event as well. 

As if they wished to be a part of the ceremony as well, seven of the Rose’s finest horses including her Lady and Jon's Licorice were standing at the corral fence a little ways away, watching with what appeared to be rapt attention. 

And that had been the end of the children’s interest in the ceremony. They were both fidgeting something fierce at this point but they weren’t alone. Little Sam, Micah and Maddy were same. Only Edd and Alyce’s Pearl sat biddable in her daddy’s lap while chewing on her tiny fist with gusto. _Teething already, poor pet. _

“C’mere, little lady,” Jon murmured, offering to take Arya, the greater fidgeter, from Sansa’s arms.

“We go riding, Daddy?” Arya asked as Sansa handed her over and took Little Edd from his father.

Sansa scowled at her husband still not so sure how she pleased was that he’d taken the two of them riding the other day for the first time when she’d been busy at the clothesline. Naturally, neither had been able to think on anything else since then. 

Reluctant to meet his wife’s eyes, she heard Jon tell Arya in a low voice, “We will later maybe but right now we gotta be quiet or Mama won’t let us have none of that cake.”

That did the trick. Arya was easily swayed by a treat like cake. She closed her little mouth and sat as still as she could manage. 

“I get cake?” Little Edd asked her sweetly, his blue eyes beseeching. 

She affectionately ruffled his dark curls and grinned before whispering, “We’ll all have some cake.”

Turning her attention back to the service, she watched as the reverend pronounced the young couple man and wife. 

Pod gave his bride a sweet, tentative kiss, both of them flushed scarlet. She knew they’d shared plenty of kisses by this point but never with so many onlookers clapping and cheering as they did so. Beyond kissing, she supposed they’d find their way soon enough. Plus, Beth had come to her the other evening with some rather specific questions which she’d happily answered as honestly as she could. Pod had apparently attempted to do the same with Jon but grown flustered and fled after muttering the first one. 

“Oh…” she sighed when Pod reverently kissed Beth’s fingers after kissing her lips. 

“Ha, I told you.”

She primly sniffed at Jon, fighting the urge to start grinning. “It was hardly a great prediction on your part, Mr. Snow, to guess that your wife would cry some happy tears at a wedding.”

Jon was chuckling even as Arya grew harder to contain. “Daddy, please! Me go!” the child wailed.

With his duties as Best Man concluded, Wex strolled over and pointed towards the corral, asking the parents for permission.

“I think we’d all be much obliged to you, Wex,” Sansa told him, kissing his cheek as thanks when he took Arya and Edd by the hand. 

The other three youngsters who could walk soon followed to visit with the horses under Wex’s watchful eyes.

Jon pulled a lace handkerchief from his pocket, one she had made him. “I don’t claim to be a fortune teller, darling, but I love my wife and her happy tears. I’m only glad that I get to see far more of those than the other variety.” He gently dabbed at a tear with the pad of his thumb, the contact flooding her with warmth. 

Sansa finished wiping her eyes and tucked the bit of lace back into her pocket. “I suppose as the hosts we should see about feeding this crowd, husband.”

Everyone had turned out for the joyous occasion, all the residents of the ranch, Beth's Uncle Jory and his family, Loras and Renly, Brienne and Tormund, the Toletts, the Tarlys, Chapawee and Doc Luwin and a few of the younger folks from town who were friends with Beth and Pod. She certainly hoped there'd be enough vittles and cake for everyone. 

“Yes, let's see to it, wife. And then we’ll gladly see the backs of them once they're fed.”

“But first there’ll be dancing.” Jon groaned, giving her a put-upon expression, a very false put-upon expression. “You promised me and you promised Arya, too.”

“I did promise and I can’t break my promises to my ladies,” he conceded, unable to hide his grin. 

“The boys might even manage to play us a waltz.” Sam Tarly had a fiddle and Pyp had admitted he could play the horn flute. Wex could keep time on a drum and Tormund…well, he said he could play the banjo though Brienne had been shaking her head when he’d said it. 

“A waltz, huh? Well, I suppose I can’t turn down a chance to waltz with my darling. But after the food’s all eat up and the dancing is done…”

“And the twins are tucked into bed.”

“And the twins are tucked into bed, I got plans for you and me, wife.” That dark look of his was making her tremble in anticipation. 

“What kind of plans, husband?” 

“A bath for starters.”

“Oh, I like the sounds of that.”

“Good because I’m going to enjoy the sounds you make for me in that bath.”

“Mr. Snow!” she squeaked, looking around lest anyone should overhear.

“You already know what a wicked man you married.” 

She laughed and nodded in agreement as they head towards the house together. But as they passed between the clothesline with a sheet blowing in the breeze and blocking them from the revelers, she stopped and took his hand. 

"What is it?" His callused hand cupped her cheek, his dark grey eyes full of loving concern. 

"It's nothing. I'll just miss them here is all."

"So will I. The house will feel mighty empty without Beth here."

"But not that empty with our twins."

"This is true."

"And perhaps, it'll feel a little fuller again before long."

She had been planning to tell him of her growing suspicion tonight when they were alone but somehow, here between the clotheslines with the wedding guests still busy congratulating the young couple felt right. 

His brow furrowed for a moment as he pondered her words but her husband was clever enough. "Are you saying..."

She placed his hand on her belly and gave him a loving smile. "I think I am. You might be a daddy again before next summer.” They’d done nothing to avoid her getting pregnant again obviously but it’d been nearly three years and she’d wondered if the twins might be all they would have. She would be glad to be mistaken. “What do you think of that, Jon?"

“What do I think of that? I think every time I tell myself, ‘This is it. Nothing can possibly make me any happier than I already am,’ you go and prove me wrong again.” He then whooped and tossed his hat in the air before lifting her into his arms and spinning her until they were both dizzy. 

Yes, she would guess that he was pleased judging by the happy tears that streaked her husband’s cheeks.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe it's been seven months to the day since I started posting this. Thank you all for reading and being so wonderfully supportive! It's hard for me to say goodbye to this little ranch family but I have enjoyed writing and sharing it with you all :)


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